Angry the German

It has been quite some time since i have posted anything but in my defense there has been a lack of internet over the past two weeks. This will be he first in a short series of installments.

Leaving Amsterdam seemed straightforward enough on paper, I catch an over night train to Copenhagen that would take the best part of 14 hours and deposit me in the heart of Copenhagen. I left my companions for this intrepid solo leg of the journey an hour earlier than required, just to make sure i got off on the right foot and thank god for that because this is where the fun started. I get to the station and cast around for the nearest ticket information desk to present myself to and find one without any trouble. When I finally get to the head off the cue I am told that my booking number is not sufficient and that I have to print everything off. Now at this point I can only assume that the gentleman behind the counter with the thick German accent, was having a very bad day indeed because when I inquired as the where I can print off my email he fired back an angry "how should i know". A bit disillusioned with my transport company I look around the station a little bit desperately for an internet cafe with printing facilities. I don't find a cafe but what i do happen to find is an ice cream shop with printing and over 36 flavours. The nice young girl behind the counter with the happy dutch accent says I need to sample the wares in order to be able to use the net and print and so I proceed to gleefully tuck into my 'Chunky Monkey' while scouring my inbox.

I return to Angry the German and present him the requested paperwork and a grin. Neither work it seemed because he then tells me in his own delightful fashion "this train does not exist." Restraining a number of tart replies I press the matter to find out how it is possible to purchase a ticket for a train that doesn't exist and his only response is to try and sell me a ticket for a train that is leaving at the exact same time to the same destination. This time, I do not restrain the sarcasm and we are sliding towards an altercation when his superior intercedes. As it turns out, it is my train, I do own a ticket, I didn't need to print it and Angry the German is in fact a twat. Medical fact. I leave the transit lounge looking like a cat thats been into the cream, followed by the sound of Angry coping a Dutch lashing.

I go back to the ice cream shop for some 'Coffee Coffee BuzzBuzzBuzz'...because I deserve it.