Sidetracked

Ardell: Time and Time Again

- Berlin, Germany -

Jesus fucking Jewish Christ, so many people. Why are there so many people? It isn't bloody Christmas, damn it!! 

Ardell's thoughts scream at him as his face remains emotionless, gripping his suitcase and maneuvering through the traffic jam of human bodies between him and the ticket booth.

The train station. Not a place anyone would usually find Ardell. But then this isn't a usual situation, either. Doing a quick search online was all he had needed before he set off to catch the next train to London. It didn't matter to him if it was cheap or easy. It was quicker than driving or waiting for a plane. That was all that mattered. Anything to get him back home fast.

But now, swamped with a swarm of sweaty people with no indication of personal space, Ardell has begun questioning if any of it was worth it. These are the people who are gonna be on the train, aren't they? God help me...

He slows his step and looks up at the time board above, just to be sure there's no delays or other hiccups. With his luck, it's never a bad idea to be sure. His eyes narrow, trying to make it out. It's all in German, a language Ardell had never bothered to learn because he never thought he'd need it. His trips to the country were always a plane ride in, a taxi ride to the hotel, a meeting here and there, and then repeat the process back out. Learning German had gradually moved lower on his list of things to do until it had fallen off completely at some point, and now Ardell is regretting it.

Finally, he finds the line he's looking for. London. Departure: 10:30 a.m. Right on time.

He glances down at his watch. 10:17 a.m.

"Fuck me..." Ardell breathes as his feet pick up speed.

A sign above. Letters that spell out something that looks like "tickets." That must be it.

He rushes to the line and sighs. It's definitely the ticket booth line, and there's only one man in front of him. Maybe I'll make it after all. This can't take too long, right? He exhales heavily and checks his phone. Still no calls or texts. He puts it back in his pocket and taps his foot in wait.

"So I'm only allowed two bags?" the aging but not quite elderly man in front of Ardell says in German.

The clerk behind the counter is visibly perturbed, but smiles anyway as she answers. "That's correct. Only two. But your smaller bag can fit inside your largest bag and then you can remove it once you're on the train."

Ardell has become hopelessly involved in the situation as he leans in to listen, trying to grasp what they're saying. Bags. Two bags. Smaller bag inside the bigger bag...

"But wouldn't that technically mean I still have three bags instead of two?" the older man says, taking on a stance of someone unwilling to bend.

Is he seriously fighting with her over how many bags he can have? Is this really what's going to make me miss my bloody train??

"Yes, sir, but it's only a precaution because we're--"

Before Ardell knows it, he's yelling. "Bloody hell, mate, just zip the fucker up in your bag and get on with it, will ya? The fuckin' train is leavin' in 10 minutes!" His hair flips up a bit, sweat forming on his forehead.

The man in front of him looks back at him, opening his mouth to speak. But, upon seeing Ardell, he decides against it. Instead, he gives him a judgmental, and maybe a little concerned, look before grabbing up his bags and stepping away.

Ardell breathes out. You've done it again, haven't you? He tries to ignore it and smooths his hair back down, stepping up to the window. "Hi there. I need one ticket to London, please."