Dear Deutsche Bahn...

(image courtesy of wikipedia) ...I'm trying to like you. No, really - I am. Having forfeited the comfort and luxury of my own personal means of transport in order to partake of your more eco-friendly and slightly less wallet-voiding fare, I'll admit my expectations weren't too high even at the beginning of our on-a-daily-base hoohah. But hey - that way (I thought) I could at worst be positively surprised if things turned out to be better than what all my commuter friends were telling me. And no, none of us are perfect - I'm not blaming you for the once or twice I've managed to miss one of your trains because I was late. Not even when that same train service had failed to be punctual for the entire week prior to my little slip-up (grey ice encountered while flying down a very steep hill on a bicycle can be a treacherous thing, I've come to find), meaning that I wasn't expecting sudden on-the-dot-ness. No, honestly, that'd be okay with me, and I'm not complaining about your service personnel, either - your conductors' behaviour and general demeanour in their snazzy little captain's uniforms and leather jackets has improved immeasurably since you fired, oh, about two thirds of them and threatened the remainder with public emasculation should they ever stop smiling. What does, err, grate a little is things like the two trains you cancelled mere minutes before their planned departure (we're talking two to five minutes here, not 10 or even 15) on a busy Friday evening between five and six o' clock PM when I desperately, desperately wanted to get home. That extra hour of waiting was, I fear, something of a downer. I mean, look - it's not that I don't like your train stations, their architecture or the range of ludicrously over-priced convenience/bakers/book stores they house. It's just the fact that I pay a heck of a lot of money for my monthly ticket (as do the many new "friends" I've made on my travels recently - the alcoholic carpenter with the bad breath, the cheaply suited businessman who shouts into his mobile every morning as we ride, the gaggle of school children whose screams and constant jostling keep me "on my toes" so very literally each day) and had previously come to associate the payment of money for service as a means of ensuring I'm treated well. See, to return for a moment to that pesky car of mine - yes, it does use quite a lot of petrol, but in return when I press down on that accelerator, it goes. And I mean, "goes", as in it'll start up every time, it'll sprint when I'm in a hurry, it'll keep me safe and even as warm or cold as I like. And it'll play music for me, too, and here I can actually exert control over the volume of what I hear. Unlike the messages your train drivers massage my ears with each morning - those come in endless variations of two basic themes. Either it's the "unintelligible mutterings" type where the microphone is niftily covered (I assume) with several layers of protective cloth, handkerchiefs and maybe other heavy muffling items before the speaker on duty proceeds to declamate a series of words which I doubt even the speakers' own mates could decipher. Imperative for this approach is that whoever's "on duty" must adopt a regional accent heavy enough to mask whatever combination of syllables they are uttering to the utmost extent. For further effect, I believe some drivers actually carry tin funnels or similar kitchen implements in order to further distort the sound of their voice. Also, I'm pretty sure I caught one driver leaning out of the side window with his mic in hand while he delivered his morning speech last Thursday. Anyway, the other type is the "bawl" or "blare" (depending on loudspeaker size and proximity). This, unlike the muttering, may be delivered in an intelligible accent and without trying to mask whatever message it is that should be conveyed. There are only two imperatives: one is that one must turn the Klaxon/public address system all the way up to maximum (German train speakers, it seems, go somewhere even higher than eleven)and the speech must be delivered with lips almost touching the mic. The second (occasionally neglected) point is that, at some point with the delivery of said message, the speaker is required either to invent a new word or phrase by making a complete hash of what they were supposed to say, or else they must run out of breath, switch of the mic for a second, then turn it back on and pick up wherever they left off. "Trains will be delayed by se-"(pause for two seconds) "veral minutes this morning..." You get the picture. So, what I'm saying is: I'll try to take it on the chin, put up with your, err, "eccentricities" and forgive and forget for now. See, I do want to like you and keep believing that I'm doing the right thing here. I can't promise at this point, though, that my patience won't start running thin unless things improve at least a little... Yours daily, eddyquette