It started with a text. A chirpy little message from an unknown number, claiming to be EE, asking me to reply “DOUBLE” to activate double minutes and data on my mobile plan. Suspicious, I did what any sensible person would—called EE to check. The advisor I got, stumbling through the conversation with a grasp of English that felt more decorative than functional, assured me it was a scam. Delete it, they said. So I did. Fast forward a month, and my new contract lands with a thud: half the data I’d signed up for. It turns out that text wasn’t a scam—it was a hoop I needed to jump through to unlock the headline offer I’d been sold. A hoop EE’s own advisor didn’t know existed. Welcome to the growing creep of organisations getting basic information wrong—a malaise that somehow, miraculously, doesn’t afflict the bus and rail industries.
Let’s unpack this. I’m not here to bash the advisor personally—language barriers happen—but when a company like EE, a telecoms giant with billions in revenue, can’t train its staff to spot a legitimate promotion from a phishing attempt, something’s gone off the rails. My contract promised 300GB of data. I got 150GB. Why? Because the “DOUBLE” text was a poorly explained opt-in, and the advisor’s confident fumble cost me half my allowance. When I called back last week to complain that half of my allowance was missing, the next person—a supervisor this time—apologised, fixed it, and threw in a tenner credit as a mea culpa. Fair enough, but the damage was done. Hours wasted, trust eroded, and a lingering sense that nobody at EE knows what’s what.
As I’m sure you’ll attest, this isn’t a one-off. It’s a symptom of a wider rot creeping through customer-facing organisations. Banks misquote interest rates. Energy firms botch billing cycles. Retailers advertise discounts that vanish at checkout. The thread tying these cock-ups together? A cavalier disregard for getting the basics right—whether it’s training staff, clarifying terms or just picking up the phone with a clue. Yet cast your eye over to the bus and rail sectors, and you’ll see a different story. Timetables might not always run like clockwork—delays happen—but the fundamentals? Rock solid. You won’t find a bus driver telling you the 0815 to Hull Paragon is a mirage or a train guard claiming your season pass is a scam.
Take Brlyaine Travel or East Yorkshire. When they say a service departs at 0742, that’s what’s on the board, the app, and the driver’s duty board. If a fare’s £2.50, it’s £2.50—not £1.25 unless you text “HALF” to some shadowy number. Promotions—like a £1 Holidayrider or a railcard discount—are spelled out in plain English, plastered on posters and drilled into staff. I’ve never tapped a contactless card on a bus only to find the fare’s doubled because the driver didn’t know about a “reply YES” gimmick. The systems aren’t perfect—overcrowding, cancellations, the odd broken toilet—but the information is. You know where you stand, even if it’s on a packed platform in the rain.
Why the difference? Transport’s baked-in accountability helps. Buses and trains operate in public, under scrutiny from regulators, passengers and enthusiasts who’ll howl if a route number’s wrong. Though not as religious as Brits’ obsession with the NHS, we do feel the railways are ‘ours’. EE can hide behind call centres and fine print; a bus firm can’t shrug off a missing service. If PC Coaches says the 50 stops at the High Street, it does—or they’ll hear about it. Rail franchises face penalties for misreporting performance. Accuracy isn’t optional—it’s survival. Contrast that with my EE saga, where the advisor’s blunder had no immediate consequence for them, just me staring at a throttled data cap. You’ll doubtless have your own stories.
It’s also about simplicity. Transport deals in tangible things: times, routes, fares. There’s no room for vague opt-ins or cryptic texts. When Northern runs a two-for-one deal, they don’t make you guess—it’s on the website, loud and clear. EE’s “DOUBLE” trick felt like a riddle wrapped in a sales pitch, and their own team couldn’t crack it. Bus and rail operators know their customers—tired commuters, pensioners, students—want clarity, not a treasure hunt. The InterConnect 505 doesn’t leave you wondering if it’s really the InterConnect 505!
This creeping incompetence elsewhere isn’t just annoying—it’s costly. My lost 150GB could’ve been streaming, working or tethering my laptop on a deadline. It also could have cost me significantly. Instead, I got a lesson in corporate sloppiness. And it’s not just EE. I’ve had a utility firm swear my meter reading was impossible (it wasn’t) and Tesco Bank informing me that the erroneous transfer fee would be refunded when it wasn’t. Each time, the fix comes after the faff—hours on hold, escalations, grovelling apologies. Meanwhile, I can board a Hornsbys’ 4 to Brigg with a fiver and the driver knows the change to the penny.
The lesson? Transport’s got a grip on the basics because it has to. Public exposure and practical necessity keep it honest. Other sectors—telecoms, finance, energy—could learn a trick. Train your people. Make your offers plain. Don’t leave customers guessing if your own text is a scam. Until then, I’ll take a late train over a dodgy data deal any day. At least with the train, I know what I’m getting—even if it’s 20 minutes behind schedule.
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