After a pretty crappy 20-something-hour trip on an airline I won’t name that incensed me beyond words for arbitrarily making me check my carry-on bag on the first leg, I arrived in Rome ready to shake it off, only to get an uncivilized welcome by a trio of nasty Italian female millennials who either don’t like their jobs, don’t like their lives, or don’t like American women, or perhaps all of the above – but they managed to put the nail in the coffin of the first day as a purely shitty one.
It started with a snotty girl at the airport train station that sold me a ticket to the main downtown Rome terminal – a train system I’ve never been on. She took my money, dismissed most of my questions as beneath her, and sent me on my way. Whatever. On the train, bitchy girl number two comes into the picture – she was the “conductor” and asked for my ticket. I gave her the slip of paper the other girl had given me that showed I bought a ticket, and with more scorn that I thought was possible from someone who’s worst issue has likely been acne, she says, “That’s not a ticket, that’s a receipt for a ticket.” So I tell her well, it’s the only thing she gave me. What proceeded to unfold was an absurd argument in which the girl insisted that I DID NOT have a ticket for the train, despite having a ticket receipt for the train, and as such she was going to fine be about $80 for riding the train without a ticket. EIGHTY DOLLARS. On top of my $22 ticket that I had clearly paid for, seeing as I had a receipt and all. I argued. I became semi-belligerent. I had at that point been up for well over 24 hours, and I was not having it. “It’s not my problem,” she said. Haha. Oh. So I say, “Well it’s not my problem your ticket people can’t do their jobs.”
But, see, that wasn’t true, because it was my problem. I told her I wasn’t paying any fine and to get serious. She demanded my passport and told me I was getting a fine no matter what, but that I could try to talk to the customer service people at the train station in Rome.
Enter the third mean girl… she was some kind of nondescript station staffer watching an exit-only doorway from the platforms at the station. I approached her – needing directions to the customer service counter – and said, “Excuse me, I have a question.” She turned her gaze to me without even acknowledging that I was standing there – giving me a hollow, indifferent stare. So at this point, I’m feeling like a little bit of a bitch myself, if I’m honest, so I just stare back at her while I wait for her to acknowledge me. Apparently, the death stare was supposed to be my invitation to start talking, because after a few seconds of that staring showdown between us in which she wouldn’t acknowledge me and I wouldn’t speak until she did, she widened her eyes, shook her head in disgust, and shrugged at me, saying “WHAT?” like “What the F are you standing there for?” So I ever-so-sweetly say, “Oh – you didn’t respond so I thought you couldn’t speak English.” Bitch. I didn’t say that part. She points me to the customer service counter. I tell her to go F herself. OK, that’s not true. I said thanks, but I think she knew what I meant.
The customer service guy tells me I’m dumb for not insisting the girl at the train station give me an actual ticket along with my receipt. I tell him I have no idea how they run their stupid train service. Clearly, my first 24 hours was not going well. Finally, I just walked away, refusing to pay the fine. He told me it will double every two weeks. I told him he should be embarrassed about how stupid their system is. 😬 OK, that part is true. I just wanted to get on a train and go to Orvieto, a little hilltop city about 90 minutes north of Rome where I would be spending a few days. Yeah, I’ll pay the fine. Jerks. But I couldn’t just then because I was too mad.
Now I am a stroll and a good bottle of Italian wine into my first day, and I’m starting to shake it off. But seriously – how can you not? Look at this place? It is sweet and beautiful, and I haven’t run into a single Italian mean girl. I asked someone about my encounter, and they said yeah, Italian women can be that way, but that mostly EVERYONE in Europe is that way towards people from the USA at this point because they assume we all like Donald Trump and they all think he’s evil. Maybe I should have worn a “Trump sucks” sweatshirt or something. I don’t think it would have helped me at the train station though — those girls were just plain mean — but it might make the rest of this week bearable. Or maybe I’ll just drink some more Italian wine and pretend I’m from Canada. It can only get better, right?
