Remind me, the next time I consider spending eight hours on the train during a 36-hour period, not to do it.
Remind me that being on a train for eight hours out of 36 means that 22.222% of those 36 hours will be a colossal, literal pain in the ass. Remind me that “business class” in no way indicates that the ride will be any better (aside from leg room) than in “coach”, and that I will, by the end of that ride, know more about the passengers’ “business” thanks not only to cell phone blather but to the inane dealings between colleagues seated across the aisle from each other who insist on loudly letting the rest of us in on the fascinating details, and also that “class” is something that most people are sorely lacking.
Remind me that I have absolutely no respect for people who have no respect for other people. Remind me to take a sweater. Remind me to bring Diet Coke. Remind me to bring a hell of a lot more CDs, because the one that I swore I loved enough to listen to endlessly failed to live up to that great expectation.
Or better yet, remind me that I just can’t stand the train and to make my friends visit me instead.
Thank you.