Killing Time

Well, Friends and Neighbors, we are camped in the 2nd floor waiting room of a train station- I wonder how many hours of my life I have spent in this train station- hundreds, maybe thousands...lots, for sure. Had hoped to catch the 15:11 train back to our other bache; they don't sell tickets ahead for that train (this used to be a very common practice but it's the first time in several years that I had to wait till the day of the train before tickets went on sale)- anyway, left the apt in L early, got here shortly after noon- huge long lines all over (aside: this station is a main transfer point for heaps and heaps of trains, but very few originate here; and today, as always- there were 2 cash registers open to serve hundreds of passengers- I used to hate- I'm not kidding, sorry- this station-then I spent less time here and my feelings sort of mellowed- today, they're right back to where they were)- anyway, long lines, long wait, people jumping lines, crabby customers, crabby ticket agents.
Which came first- the crabby ticket agent or the crabby passenger? Answer at the bottom.
After a LONNNGGGG wait- no tickets at all left on our train. None. Zero. Not for love or money, as they say (not that I tried both). There are, however, tickets on the 23:43 train (that's nearly midnight, in case military time isn't your thing). So, we have tickets for nearly midnight. We're upstairs waiting with the gypsies and obnoxious music streaming cell phones of 10,000 teens...bet you can't tell how much I love this. Only 9 hours left to wait. I think I'll go check my bag and take a foot tour of this un-beautiful city.

Answer to Q: the crabby ticket agent came first. If you've ever been in Eastern Eur, you'll know that's true. It's in their job description. Yell. It intimidates people. If you make a mistake, fix it by bawling out the person who saw your mistake.