“The conductor has mistaken the time, but he is on his way.” Typical Harry, he thought, letting go of the intercom. Harry was the most chaotic person he knew. No wonder they weren’t taken seriously here in the South, this nonsense would never be tolerated in Rotterdam. What bothered him was how he was always the one cleaning up the mess. First calling management to check who should have been here, although he could have guessed it was Harry. Then speaking to the passengers and informing them of the delay. For secret Santa last year Harry had gotten a calendar, in hopes of helping him create some order in his existence. That idea was evidently built on a fragile foundation of hope and optimism. It was never entirely clear whether Harry just forgot he had to work, whether he wasn’t sure when he was supposed to start or if he just lost track of time. In the distance he saw a figure hurrying this way, a balding head with a flushed face underneath. He rolled his eyes. About time.