Tuesday saw me head north on a store visit to our new branch in Chester.
Store visiting is one of my favourite parts of my job as not only is it a chance to get out of the office for a day (and who wouldn't love that) but it's also a great opportunity to meet the branch staff and really get a feel for the stores. My day started off pretty standard; an early start followed by a freezing wait at Euston for them to announce the platform, so far, so normal. As I rushed with the other commuters in the scramble to get a seat I glanced at my ticket to check my seat number. J 15. Hmmm, I thought as I passed the first class carriage, carriage J, that can't be right. So I scrambled into a standard carriage and battled against the other passengers for that elusive window seat, before realising that pretty much all the seats were booked and I would indeed have to go off and search for seat J 15. It was at this point I actually looked at my ticket, First Class, it said on the top. Now, I have no idea how this happened. I can only assume that I caught the man at National Rail Business Travel on a good day because this is definitely not what I booked. I battled my way against the flow of angry passengers desperate for a seat and entered the quiet and serene world of the Virgin trains first class carriages. I even checked with the waitress (!) just in case there had been some mistake, as she came round to ask what breakfast I would like, but she assured me I was in the right seat. Well, all thoughts of eating my Weight Watchers packed lunch, that was discreetly hidden in my bag, went out the window. Don't get me wrong, I didn't gobble down a breakfast, I just didn't eat my packed lunch out of sheer embarrassment. Eating a homemade lunch in a first class carriage surrounded by businessmen in suits, I mean, who does that? To be honest the whole journey felt a bit surreal, kind of like Audrey Tautou in the Chanel advert, but a lot less chic. And if Audrey drank ribena and was switching between reading a copy of Glamour magazine and studying her store visit reports in an effort to look intellectual.
Store visiting is one of my favourite parts of my job as not only is it a chance to get out of the office for a day (and who wouldn't love that) but it's also a great opportunity to meet the branch staff and really get a feel for the stores. My day started off pretty standard; an early start followed by a freezing wait at Euston for them to announce the platform, so far, so normal. As I rushed with the other commuters in the scramble to get a seat I glanced at my ticket to check my seat number. J 15. Hmmm, I thought as I passed the first class carriage, carriage J, that can't be right. So I scrambled into a standard carriage and battled against the other passengers for that elusive window seat, before realising that pretty much all the seats were booked and I would indeed have to go off and search for seat J 15. It was at this point I actually looked at my ticket, First Class, it said on the top. Now, I have no idea how this happened. I can only assume that I caught the man at National Rail Business Travel on a good day because this is definitely not what I booked. I battled my way against the flow of angry passengers desperate for a seat and entered the quiet and serene world of the Virgin trains first class carriages. I even checked with the waitress (!) just in case there had been some mistake, as she came round to ask what breakfast I would like, but she assured me I was in the right seat. Well, all thoughts of eating my Weight Watchers packed lunch, that was discreetly hidden in my bag, went out the window. Don't get me wrong, I didn't gobble down a breakfast, I just didn't eat my packed lunch out of sheer embarrassment. Eating a homemade lunch in a first class carriage surrounded by businessmen in suits, I mean, who does that? To be honest the whole journey felt a bit surreal, kind of like Audrey Tautou in the Chanel advert, but a lot less chic. And if Audrey drank ribena and was switching between reading a copy of Glamour magazine and studying her store visit reports in an effort to look intellectual.
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