The journey from the town's outskirts to the centre took about five or so minutes by train and was the fastest way to get there by far (let's not mention the incidents involving three buses all trying to cram themselves into the same stop at once, each believing they are the only bus there, held back by some kind of unseen barrier).
Normally the train arrives down by the docks, almost entirely empty and perfectly maintained. The train station prides itself on things running smoothly and so everything, right down to the way the bags are placed in the small carriage bins, must be to absolute perfection. If they find any sign of imperfection they halt everything they can in order to fix it.
I remember being there when it happened one time. Someone near to me had made a call a few minuted into the journey to state that several newspapers had been left on board between the stops and within the minute the train had been brought to a complete halt.
The driver's shaky voice came over the tannoy saying "I do apologise everyone, we seem to have be faced with a red light and as we know, it is illegal to move any vehicle or persons away from or around the red lights. We do apologise for the delay and I shall be back momentarily with further updates on the situation. Thank you for choosing Trans-National Rails for your service today."
The call-maker looked smug, possibly picturing what would happen to the poor driver and how they had made the train system better for making the report, even if they had turned one lone newspaper into the epitome of a trash-filled pig sty. People like them always seemed to live in show-houses with their immaculate spouse and sterile plastic plants, plastic children too (until they made a mistake and reminded their parents that they were only human. Clearly the only option is to remove them from the otherwise perfect house until they learn to repress all humanity like any civil individual.)
The tannoy beeped into life once more and the driver spoke his last. "Good afternoon everyone, I do sincerely apologise for the mess in Carriage J. This is being remedied immediately. If you look to your right when the Improvement Siren sounds you will see the appropriate staff punishments being carried out. Due to the delay a replacement train to Liverpool Station will be awaiting all London-bound passengers upon our arrival at the town centre. Thank you for choosing Trans-National Rails for your service today."
Sure enough as he was relaying this in the robotic tones of despair that are so common during messages like this, a member of staff came by to scour the carriage for the "sheer filth" that the passenger had reported. I'll never forget the look of barely suppressed rage on their face when they were handed the single paper by that same call-making person, smug look very much in place. Not that they can show any other emotion at work besides that vague pleasant, subservient smile.
As they left with the paper clutched tightly in their hands the Improvement Siren sounded and everyone's head snapped to the right, eager to see the punishments doled out.
The first punishment went to the driver for failing to ensure full cleaning procedures were in place during the journey. Negligence always resulted in the loss of both eardrums, to be detonated minutely and remotely using Trans-National's patented technology. His sentence was swiftly dealt out and before his blood had begun to cool on the bright spring foliage outside the next punishment had begun.
The rest of the staff faced similar punishments depending on their rank and placement within the train, those closest to Carriage J lost both ears, the main cleaner lost their eye and was ordered to report to the main headquarters for a replacement to "help them see uncleanliness faster and thereby Improve Train Satisfactory Ratings."
When the name was called out for the final punishments, the rest having taken about half an hour, the passenger near to me who had made the original call went pale and headed outside on trembling legs. The train's exterior tannoy announced that "from the gross exaggeration of reported negligence aboard Train 26451, Carriage J, your punishment is to forfeit your tongue and pay the fine of £112.50 to Trans-National Rails for the hour of staff time spent being punished for your report and to pay Trans-National's appointed courts the sum of £277.50 to award to the passengers for the wasting of their time during this incident. Thank you for choosing Trans-National Rails for your service today."
They were thankfully swift with the removal of his tongue, four staff members pinned him down while another went to the side of the carriage and extracted the appropriate tools from the Trans-National Safety Kit. He had such a set of lungs on him that people came out from the nearby houses to see what the noise was all about.
The rest of the trip was quiet, apart from his faint sobs as he sat slumped over in his appointed chair.
Better him than me.
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