Everyone is sitting in their repective seats, ready to go. The train starts to roll away from the station whereupon a little asian man with a disorganized goatee walks in the door and starts talking to a man one row behind me on the other side of the aisle. He confronts the frenchman in English:
“Is this car number 8? I think you’re in my seat.”
“No, this is car number 6. You’re going to have to switch to the other car when we stop.” He replies with a slight nasaly accent.
“But how far is that?”
“I have no idea, but I think it will be in Bruxelles. You will have to wait here or find an empty seat”
“But how do I know when we are in Bruxelles?”
“They will announce it.”
“In English?”
“Umm Yes, but if not,” he says in a French accent: “it’s BREW-cell”
“Oh ok…”