On 18 January 1999, in Cologne, I board the TGV-Thalys high-speed train to Paris. I am wearing a City of Paris dustman’s uniform – a brand new one. I am sitting on seat 84, in coach 27… in the middle of the coach, where four people can sit and face each other. Seats 82, 83 and 85 are occupied; mine is free so I sit down. Within minutes, my neighbours leave their seats to sit further away… One hour later, near Aix-la-Chapelle, an inspector arrives and says: “Sir, you are not allowed to travel in this uniform.” Surprised, I ask him why and whether there is an appropriate outfit to wear on the Thalys… My ticket is in order, I am sitting calmly, but clearly my dustman’s suit is incompatible with the Thalys businessmen’s wear. After talking for several minutes, he tells me that I am making people uneasy and asks me to get off at Aix-la-Chapelle. Had the occupants of seats 82, 83 and 85 complained? Did they get up because of my outfit? Because I am a dustman? I have no idea… The thing is that the inspector is still there, in front of me, losing his patience. Obviously I refuse to comply. Furious, he declares that, once in Brussels, security guards and the police will deal with me. Following his intimidation tactics through, he takes out his phone and walks away so I can’t hear the conversation… I can’t tell if he is phoning Brussels but I do hear him say that I am refusing to get off… Of course, nobody came on at Brussels station and I didn’t see that inspector again. Thus I finished the journey alone, with no interruption, in a practically empty coach 27.

translation by Caroline Hancock