You will never be a real tram.
You have no wheelset, you have no pantograph, you have no passengers. You are a cargo barge twisted by empty barrels and amateur welding into a crude mockery of the Egyptian's perfection.
All the “rides” you get are uncomfortable and annoyed. Behind your back people mock you. Your manufactures are disgusted and disappointed of you, your “rafts” laugh at your impractical appearance on slower waters.
Conductors are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed conductors to filter out nigger-riggers with incredible efficiency. Even trammies who “pass” look dilapidated and unnatural to a shipwrights and conductors. Your construction is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a new guy home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your fresh water, moldy bilge.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a broken windshield every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a worried passenger, ready to sink you under the unbearable barge.
Eventually it’ll be too much to float- you’ll buy a gallon of incorrect diesel, get a funnel, put it inside your tank, and plunge into the cold waters. Your shipwrights will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable maintenance and hassle. They’ll beach you with a sign marked 'FREE SCRAP
, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a boat is buried there. Your metal will rust and go back to the fall apart, and all that will remain of your legacy is a hull that is unmistakably aquatic.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no floating back.
