A couple things I forgot to mention, which Auntie Jean kindly reminded me of.
When I traveled home last weekend, via Amtrak, I realized what a class-stratified society we do live in and I realized that I am near the bottom rung.
Usually, that knowledge is hidden from me, because I get by. I am not living in a sodden cardboard box on the sidewalk. My teeth are not rotting out of my head. I struggle – but I have my own apartment, I can buy my own food, I’m okay.
But step onto Amtrak … I dare ya … step onto an Amtrak train …
and you realize that there is an enormous class of people way up in the stratosphere above you who never EVER have to put up with the nonsense of riding on a train.
The train was literally filled with garbage. It was one huge garbage dumpster shrieking up the Northeast corridor. Every corner was stuffed with crushed coffee cups, dirty napkins, old newspapers … Nobody bothered to come through the train and neaten things up. We just had to clear spaces for ourselves in the middle of the trash, and make do.
All the people in the car looked exhausted.
One woman, sitting two seats behind my sister and I, called over to us in this jaded voice, as we slung our bags up onto the rack, “This train ride has been one long continuous string of nightmares.”
I needed to sleep – so I stretched out on two empty seats – basically surrounded by GARBAGE – and fell asleep.
It was nasty.
The other thing I forgot to tell was:
My sister Jean came to pick us up at the train station – and she left a Halloween party to do so.
She was dressed up as Smurfette.
Siobhan and I knew that, basically, Smurfette was going to be waiting for us – so when we emerged gratefully from that GARBAGE CAN OF NIGHTMARES, into the fragrant autumn night, we looked around the train platform, already laughing … knowing that whatEVER we were going to see … it was going to be hilarious.
And there she was.
Standing at the top of the steps.
She looked like an absolute lunatic. She had a blue-painted face. A white knitted hat. A blue turtleneck, blue running pants – and WHITE SLIP on over all of this … and then … these ridiculous white pumps. They looked like Barbie shoes.
And there she stood. I could see her teeth gleaming with laughter out of the blue.
Her boyfriend was the Crocodile Hunter – and while yes, he did have a rubber crocodile peeping from his pocket – he looked relatively normal, and his face was not blue.
Two days later, Jean still was washing remnants of blue from out of her ears.
great story.
I think I would be tempted to bring a garbage bag and a rubber glove next time. I’m serious. maybe if one of the degenerates that works for Amtrak saw a passenger cleaning the mess they might feel guilty. maybe, but not likely. you’d be able to travel like a human being at least.
Whoa. My Amtrak experiences were more hygenic than yours. I feel your pain, though. I hate those trains, I drive faster than those trains.
JC:
To be fair: this is the first time I have ever experienced such a filthy train.
It is not the first time, however, that I have experienced over an hour delay, and the air-conditioner on full blast, so that people were literally shivering in their seats, teeth chattering, like paupers in the winter. Yeah, and I wish, sometimes, the trains would go faster. I hate looking out the window at the scenery going by in a leisurely chug-chug-chug manner.
Let’s get a move on!!
One of my grandfathers–due to mulitple marriages in the two previous generations, I have four–was a Pullman Porter back in the forties and fifties. Back then those were prized and well-paid jobs for black men and these men took great pride in their service and the condition of their cars.
Does this job still exist?
Juliette:
I really don’t know if those jobs exist anymore … We only saw a conductor once – when he came around to take the tickets.
Obviously – they don’t have the same pride in the cars, or in Amtrak, that your grandfather did.
I was on that train Wed to Philly…