DART commuters seem to be resigned to their fate. It's our lot in life to travel in cramped, stuffy conditions and wait for trains that are often late and sometimes never turn up.

I joined a group of commuters at Shankill station recently just before 8.30 a.m. We waited in the early-morning sunlight, looking at our watches, listening to pocket radios, reading newspapers, chatting to friends and catching up on homework. At 8.25 the electronic timetable suddenly flickered and changed to announce that the next train would arrive in 20 minutes.

Commuters, it seems, just have to live with the disruption that is now commonplace on the DART line. There was no announcement of regret, and the train eventually did arrive shortly after 9 a.m., half-an-hour late.

When I eventually got to a DART station in the city and asked a CIE employee why there was a delay on the line, he replied succinctly: "I don't know and I don't care."

Well, that about sums up the DART service these days, I thought. But back to the beginning of my story.

I was about to attempt to get on at Shankill but changed my mind when I saw the conditions aboard one of the carriages. Passengers embedded in each other, faces pressed up against the opposite doors. I found another carriage and pushed my way on, deciding that to wait for another 10 minutes was a luxury that I couldn't afford that morning.

If I had stood that closely to my fellow passenger, a woman, in any other public place, she could have rightly asked to have me arrested. We wedged our feet to the floor, as if superglued, to repel new waves of frustrated passengers who tried to force their way aboard at each station along the way.

Newcomers are not welcome because they only add to the crush. Anyway, why don't they wait for the next train. It's only 10 minutes away!

There are a number of don'ts when travelling on public transport. My daughter says it's not cool to talk to or even acknowledge anyone else unless you know them. So my efforts to converse with fellow passengers are frowned on.

No one wants to make a fuss or draw attention to themselves: the big no-no is thinking about or even attempting to open a window. If you can't handle the claustrophobic feeling that DART travel induces, you've got to be forceful. Put your hand on the window catch (not everyone knows how to release the handle smoothly and quickly), mutter "Mind if I open the window?", not really meaning it, and let the air waft in.

On one occasion a woman in the seat opposite to me leaned across on a windy, wet night and said: "Mind if I close the window?". To her amazement, I said I did, and she retreated to her seat shamefaced.

DART commuters are a strange breed. Muffled up in overcoats, raincoats and winter woollies, we sit on heaters set at high under our seats and keep all the windows closed. The DART driver seems to have but two heater controls, on and off. There's no in-between.

A regular commuter told me the other day she had had the experience of riding on a strange new DART train, with fewer seats and sleek lines. Mind you, I haven't seen this rare beast yet. But this raises the question: where are the many new carriages that DART commuters have been promised to ease the cramped conditions we've become accustomed to?

The service has become so erratic that scheduled DART services frequently vanish with the whimsical explanation that "due to staff shortages the 08.25 service [or whatever] has been cancelled".

We know about the personnel shortages, but what about redeploying existing staff in ticket offices and retraining some to drive DARTs and trains? Automated ticket machines could replace ticket office staff, and the public would feel something was being done.

In fairness to most staff who work in fairly Dickensian conditions, they are generally helpful and good-humoured. I have seen them clean up vomit from the night before on the steps of DART stations and rubbish that's tossed around platforms by yobs. I have even witnessed a driver stop the DART and use a tabloid paper to mop up the aftermath of a boozy night out.

But our "it will do" culture is no longer acceptable. On public transport services elsewhere in Europe, their designer trams look like glamorous sports cars while ours looks more like a 1970s Ford Capri.

The delays and disruption have become so commonplace that no one pays much attention any more. Commuters by and large grin and bear it, like the latest hiccup I encountered just 15 minutes into my half-hour journey into the city.

As we waited at one of the stops, the driver announced: "There will be a delay to this train. We are having problems with the doors. We will keep you informed. Now, will everyone please get off and wait for the next train?"

I eventually made it to my appointment half-an-hour late.

A few nights ago, at Pearse Station, I heard another familiar announcement: the 5 something or other train to Howth had been cancelled "due to staff shortages". The 200 commuters on the platform didn't even notice. Just another frazzled day on the DART.

Conor Kavanagh works in public relations