Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Tue 20 December - Morning good, evening bad...

The 07:14 is pretty much time this morning.

It's over 30°C so I'm pessimistic as I head to Flinders Street. Sure enough, just after 18:06 the announcement is made that the 18:01 is running approximately five minutes late. Oh really? Since it's nowhere in sight, I think not. It pulls in at 18:09, so it's going to be more than eight minutes late. Minimum.

All 16,753 of us cram ourselves in. "Stand clear, now departing" is heard... but we don't depart. Then we're all told to get off again, the train is defective.

Go and ask the stationmaster what's happening, since we're now past the time for the 18:12 to have departed and there's no sign of it - he doesn't have a clue. When I ask him about the 18:24, which by now is due in just a few minutes, he has no answer to that. Nor does he appear to care. So we're left with the oft-repeated question - does anybody know what's going on? The answer seems to be a resounding "no".

I notice that the signboard says the 18:12 is departing from platform 7. The hordes of disgruntled passengers are swarming onto platform 7. Against my better judgement, I decide to go back to platform 8 to wait for the 18:24. Just as I get there they announce it's a Sandringham train and it's now departing. What the...?! You've been telling us it's defective and you've just sent most of the passengers over to platform 7. Bet they'll be happy!

Get on it and while it's not too crowded, inevitably we are full to bursting by the time we get through Richmond and South Yarra. We pull up at Ripponlea 20 minutes late. I wonder how much further behind the 18:12 was and how crowded it was?

Connex you are a complete joke. Sure you have train problems, we all know and begrudgingly accept that, but it's how you handle those problems where you fail miserably. At best, you show a complete lack of concern for your customers, at worst I'd have to conclude you have no idea what you're doing.

Bruce Hughes, time to stand up and take responsibility for your abject failure to sort this out.


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