Not me this time:
Riding on an old, slam door train, to London, I had the pleasure of sharing my journey with a group of ladettes, and their incessant squawking (picking their Spice Girl names, which dates this story for you). Having endured 30 minutes or so of this, I was relieved to find the train slowing to a stop at Victoria. At this point, the lovely ladettes get up to leave, and the first one to the door exclaims "Oh my god, there's no handle on the door! How will we get out?!"

Lowering the window on my door, to reach out and turn the handle, I exit the train and leave them to it.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 21:24, 1 reply)

To be fair, I did this as well recently.
I grew up on the West Coast Main Line, where we have such things as multiple units with buttons to open the doors. Until last month that's just how trains were, from my point of view.

So when I had cause to ride on the East Coast Main Line, three things stood out to me and fucked with my world just enough to be mildly disconcerting.
1) The carriages are HUGE. (WC stock is tapered towards the top, for tilting.)
2) It was eerily quiet, to be in a dumb carriage hauled by a big-ass engine after having been sitting on top of the small engines all the time.
3) I was on the ball enough to know that the doors were manual, so I thought to myself "Aha! I shall use the Handle! And all shall be well!", only to be faced with a sheet of smooth metal when I came to get off. I actually turned around, slightly panicking, to say to the person behind me "I don't know how to open it!"
( Lord Keeps meaning to procrastinate., Thu 21 Jul 2011, 23:35, closed)