Muriel

For our upcoming Easter break, I will be spending two weeks in Italy with my sister.

Or so I thought.

Because I knew I’d be doing a good bit of traveling by train while in Italy, I purchased a railpass to use for the trip.  My sister had set up all of our hostel reservations and our itinerary so all I had to do was get there.   Literally, my only responsibility was getting to Rome.

Now, I’ve done enough traveling to know that there’s no need to make train reservations.  There are trains constantly going places and all the trains I’ve ever been on have had plenty of empty seats.  So when my friends told me they were going to the train station two weeks before their departure to reserve tickets, I wasn’t concerned.

And then they came back.

“Muriel said we can’t go,” they told me.  

First of all, who is Muriel?  Why is she telling you this?  And go where?  To Italy?  Of course you can go to Italy.  There are like five different trains a day.

“Muriel from the train station.  We finally got her to understand what we wanted to do and she looked it up and said we couldn’t get on any of the trains.  They’re all booked.  We’re just going in May but I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Oh.  No.  I have to get to Italy.  I guess I could find a flight but they’re probably all booked.  My mom has already sent me at least a dozen emails about how dangerous Italy can be.  I can’t leave my sister there alone!  She’s only 26!

The next day, I prepared myself for disappointing news as I gathered my railpass and a few other papers.  As I waited in line, I squinted to read the nametag of the woman working: Muriel.  Great.  I’m going to end up talking to her and she’s not even going to understand my French and she’s going to tell me the same news.  

But then, I saw another employee returning from her break.  Maybe I would get to talk to her.  She would just have to open her window before Muriel finished talking to her current customer.  I watched the new girl as she painstakingly straightened her papers and turned on her computer. 

Hurry up!  I’m gonna get stuck with Muriel!

She fixed her nametag and applied chapstick as I watched Muriel’s customer hand her some money.

“Open your window!!!” my eyes yelled at her while I continued to smile at the new girl.

Then, she slowly switched her sign to “Open” and called me to the window.  I ran up to her window, just in case Muriel tried to stop me, and explained to the new girl what I needed, all the while preparing myself for the inevitable bad news.  How would I explain to her in French that I had to go to Italy because my sister would be there alone and would get pick-pocketed unless I went?  (You see, while everyone working at McDonald’s refuses to speak anything but English with me, it never fails that every time I have to do something important the person doesn’t speak any English.) 

I’ve got it!  She might not be able to understand my French but I do know a universal language:  Crying Teenage American Girl.  CTAG has had impressive results in Europe, including getting me through Spanish customs…the opposite direction.  Spain should probably look into their security measures.

“Ok which train would you like?” the woman asked me in French.  In less than five minutes I had my tickets in my hand without shedding a tear.

“That’s it?” I asked her with a big smile on my face.

Laughing, she shooed me away from her window.

The next day my friends went back to the train station to get their tickets…unsuccessfully.  Like she’d said before, all the trains to Italy were booked.