Tag Archives: trains

Smart Cards

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This morning I received an email from [email protected] that was every bit automated. If only question marks could become pounds we could solve the economic crisis in Greece overnight:

“Due to an operational issue, you are due a payment of ?2.50. This is now ready for collection at Victoria [London Underground].”

I should have taken this database spew as a premonition rather than marvelling at how the revolutionary Oyster Card system can detect an issue, solve it and let you know it will be fixed next time you slap your card on one of their readers at the ticket barrier.

But it was not to be.

My card did not collect any question marks at Victoria [London Underground]. Instead, it resolutely did nothing. I slapped it a few times on the yellow circle, normally such a seamless operation, turned it over and slapped it again – but to no avail. A London Underground employee then appeared and did the same, and resignedly said “the mechanism is broken. You need to go over there and change it.”

I looked over to ‘there’ and saw a long line. My smugness of being a well-oiled commuter instantly changed into Frustrated from Hove. I was already 20 minutes late due to some unknown ‘issue’ on the train from Hove – and which the driver had admitted being clueless about. I walked over to there and stood at the end of the line, cussing and cursing for 10 minutes, until eventually Window 3 barked at me.

Another London Underground employee listened to me behind the glass and then went off to a tray at the back of the office and pulled out a tatty looking form. Her voice sounded tinny, raspy and echoey as she relayed what I need to do through the intercom system. I wondered what I sounded like to her as I puffed and snorted my ‘issue’ with Oyster pointedly at the microphone that was sticking awkwardly out of the glass (I often think the same in taxis which have a similar system in place – it seems so weird to talk to the driver through an artificial amplification system when you are in such close proximity to them).

I snatched the form from under the glass. It looked like one of those over-photocopied ones (cranked out from an overworked machine) that was slightly wonky and has lots of spaced boxes to fill in so that a computer can read it automatically. Trouble is it requires us humans to think and write quite unnaturally, forcing us to etch letters from box to box rather than flowing from one to the next.

So, I started filling in my name, address, date, email, password, etc., and then realized I’d filled the wrong boxes in – I crossed some of them out and filled in some other ones. If this had been a US customs form I’d have been sent to the back of the line and severely chastised. But luckily for me this is Britain.

The woman behind the glass looked nonchalantly at me as I slipped it back to her. She turned it over and slipped it back. There was another whole side to fill in! There was no point in huffing and puffing anymore. Instead, I staccato-ed my way through the same details as I had on the other side. It is at this point of being so far out of my comfort zone that a streak of mischievousness can kick in. I thought about adding my favourite country, my mother’s maiden name, the name of my junior school and my favourite band, what I had for breakfast, even, but knew my petulant attempt at humour would be wasted.

Instead, a third of the way through the form I gave up, slipped it back to her and she nodded, chewed, and started tapping at her computer. I asked her why this part of the process could not be automated and she replied wryly “just is that way.” After a few more minutes of tapping and then pulling out a receipt from another machine, she handed me a brand new activated Oyster Card. My relief was palpable – but short lived. She then told me that I now had to go to the London Underground website and change the details for my card since the auto top-up would not work anymore. Luckily, there was enough credit on the new card (it had miraculously been transferred) to get me to work with some small tiny residue of composure.

So much for smart cards.

Facing Fame

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The other night on the train home I sat down and heard a voice that sounded familiar. I looked across and immediately recognized the guy sitting by the window – Steve Coogan.

Trains are great places to spot and talk to people but Steve was completely preoccupied with his agent. He was also eating and drinking. So not approachable. But that did not deter me. After he had finished his roll and scrunched up the bag it was in, I got up from my seat, faced him and said a little impertinently:

“Excuse me, now that you have finished eating, do you mind if I take your photo? I do like your work, especially the Trip.”

He gave me one of those pained “I am busy, leave me alone” looks but replied courteously and curtly “only if it doesn’t take long”, thereby clearly signaling he did not want any further conversation. I snapped him quickly on the iPhone, nodded and returned to my seat, appropriately put back in my place.

Now Fabio Capello was a different ball game. About a year ago, while waiting in line at the EasyJet check-in at Palermo airport for a flight back to Gatwick, we spotted him standing by himself. Various people asked him for his autograph but we continued to wait in line, looking discreetly, pretending not to be excited. After we had checked in we turned round – and lo and behold he’d gone. We were disappointed by our earlier nonchalance – ruing the moment for not having snapped him to show off to the folks back home.

But as we passed through customs to our gate we sighted him again, this time sitting by himself on one of the benches reading a book. No hesitancy this time – we boldly sat next to him and asked if it was OK to have our photos taken next to him. He nodded and gave that craggy Capello smile. Then we got chatting and before we knew it were escorting him through the throng of people to board the plane, shouting “speedy boarding, speedy boarding’” at the jaw-dropped crowd, as if we were his minders. Once planeside, I turned back to ask if he would like to sit next to us. He hesitated and then said “sure” with another craggy grin.

C sat by the window, I sat in the middle and Fabio in the aisle.

The flight took an hour longer than scheduled because of a French air strike (we had to circumvent France) so we had several hours to strike up a conversation and compare notes. He was well read, and despite struggling occasionally with his command of English, we had several in-depth conversations and jokey chats about wine, olive oil, Sicily, modern art, books, family, having to fly with EasyJet (only flight on a Saturday to London) and, yes, lots about football. At one point, I took out my map of Sicily to show him where we had been and he used it to point and tell us all about the places he’d been to and where to go next if we ever came back to visit. He then took out his modest mobile phone and started showing us photos of his olive grove and some of his modern art collection in his garden. He’d just got hold of a Calder and wanted to see if I liked it. It was bright yellow and stood proud amongst the trees. Luckily, I was up on my outdoor Calders (there is a stunning one on the Bloomington IU campus I used to walk passed every day) and so was able to make an intelligent comment rather than simply a ‘that’s nice’ one. He was impressed.

It was his unguarded self that has stayed with me most from facing fame. Fabio seemed at ease sharing memories and moments with complete strangers in the way one does with family and friends. And throughout our encounter he touched my arm several times with a familiarity that was endearing.

Even though I could never get away from always knowing that I was in the presence of the Fabio Capello – whom we’d seen hundreds of times on TV, read so much about in the papers and online, while talking endlessly about him in the pub, especially during the world cup – I was able to relax in his company rather than be a nervous groupie.

So why do we mere mortals behave like infatuated children when we come face to face with a famous face? I’d been talking earlier in the summer with Rafi about his fascination with famous people and seeing them in the flesh. There is something magical about being in the presence of someone (having seen them so many times on TV or online) who has become famous for having achieved something special – like being a brilliant comedian who can spot-on satirize life or a world-class football manager who knows how to play the beautiful game at the highest level – that makes us so deferential and star-struck. A raw wow moment.

Transformer Sweets

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As I got off the train at Victoria on my first day at the new job I tried to embrace the role of being a London commuter rather than casual visitor. After brazenly holding up my season ticket for the first time, level with the eyes of the ticket barrier man, I then waltzed through with a brashness I thought befitting of someone in the know.

Victoria concourse is always a bit of an assault course to get through but I weaved my way through in nonchalant fashion. In the middle a gaggle of brightly clad people were thrusting yellow packets at passers-by. Usually, I take a swift glance at such freebie advertising and pass by empty handed. But this time I put my hand out and accepted the gift – seeing it as part of my new act. I put it in my bag and then forgot about it.

A couple of days later I was rummaging in my bag for a pen and noticed the yellow packet. I took it out and read the label “guzzle puzzle: what’s your fruity formula?” I ripped the packaging open. Inside was an assortment of strangely shaped and assorted coloured jelly things – some rings and others in the shape of plugs. The secret is to mix and match the two – placing a ring on top of a plug – to create your own fusion of flavours.

The red (raspberry) and the green (lime) when mixed are meant to create ‘pink lemonade’ flavour. The orange and yellow (banana) turn into bubblegum and the green (lime) and the dark maroon (cinnamon) into cola. I got my researchers to come and experiment with them, combining green and maroon plugs and rings to see if they were able to taste the ‘real thing’. There were not enough of the sweets to do a more thorough blind-fold study but they did think they were chewing on cola.

Who ever invented the idea of transforming coloured fruit flavoured candies into fizzy drinks had a streak of creativity in them. Not sure, though, about the process of putting a ring on top of a plug or vice versa.