Antonio Carmona has the most difficult job in the world.

His name sounds familiar. Antonio Carmona. You've heard it so many times... He has a calming voice, a way of soothing tempers. He was a spokesperson for Renfe, then they promoted him to director, and then demoted him back to spokesperson. I can imagine the reason: there's no one else capable of being the scapegoat for train management. And above them all, they put an incompetent person from Madrid. I don't know what Antonio Carmona earns, but it's clear they should pay him with copper wire and overhead lines by weight. He's the most valuable person in road safety. If they transfer Cercanías (commuter rail), they should transfer Antonio Carmona.

Some will read this article as ironic, but they'll be wrong. Antonio Carmona is always there. And you, stuck on the train, needing to pee and starving, smelling other people's armpits, not knowing when you'll arrive, you hear on the radio that train punctuality is 90 percent, and you believe it. You tell yourself: "No, I'm not arriving three days late, because the spirit of Antonio Carmona is with me, and he's telling me it's not exactly like that." Antonio Carmona never hides, he always speaks up, and sometimes he justifies delays that aren't exactly his responsibility. Antonio Carmona calms me down and takes away my road rage. Sometimes I've wished—but you have to be careful with wishes, because sometimes they come true—that the train would never arrive so I could hear Antonio Carmona. Do they ask him at home how his day went? I'm sure they do, and I'm sure he answers, very calmly, that it was wonderful. When I take a train—for example, today—I entrust myself to the Virgin of Empenta, first of all, and then to Antonio Carmona. I think a station called Antonio Carmona Station should be built immediately.