The other day, I was fortunate enough to cash in a first-class train ticket for a business trip. The car I ended up in was less auspicious.
Across the small table my seat was at, another man worked on his laptop. So did another man across the aisle. 15 minutes into the ride or so, my opposite needed power. His own plug didn’t work. He tried the other man’s, and I offered for him to try the one on my side as well. None of them had juice.
The man asked the conductor: “Hey, any chance we can get the electricity going?” “Let me try and reset the system,” he said. He went off, fiddled with his key somewhere, and passed back through our car. A few minutes later, still nothing. When the conductor came back, the man inquired again. “Oh, if it’s not back now, it’s unlikely it’ll come back on. I was hoping the reset would at least restart the heating.”
The conductor was right. I had noticed this car felt cooler than the other first-class wagon I had passed through en route to my seat. Even before we left, I had already seen a notification that the train’s restaurant would also be closed. And, to top it all off, connecting to the internet didn’t work either.
At that point, me and my neighbors realized: We were sitting in a first-class train car with no wifi, no electricity, no heating, and no food. Not exactly a first-class experience. Even in second, people would be complaining under these conditions.
I knew I had a four-hour journey ahead of me. I thought for a few more seconds. “Okay, this doesn’t make any sense.” I got up, packed my stuff, and went back to the other first-class car. “I’ll try my luck elsewhere,” I told my neighbors. “I think they still have seats back there.” “Yeah, maybe you’ll get some power there,” one of the men said.
I walked back, found an empty seat, and plopped down. “Priority,” the reservation label read. I had no clue what that meant, but I figured my situation would qualify. Nobody asked any questions, and, for the remainder of the ride, I at least felt warm and had electricity.
It took them a few minutes, but soon, both my neighbors followed. “Wow, it’s actually warm in here!” We all found seats before the train filled up at the next few stops. Technically, we were supposed to be in the other car. But our presence was perfectly justifiable and no one gave us the stink eye for it.
German trains might be extra prone to it, but: If the system is broken, it’s okay to apply some common sense. We need more of it almost everywhere. Do what any sane person would agree is right, and if you really need to, you can likely apologize later.
I’m not always the first one to set the example, but in this case, I like to think my neighbors followed me because they saw me take initiative. And I’m sure they were happier with their new seats too.
Let’s make common sense common again—even if sometimes means being the first one through a door to the unknown.
