Waiting in the Albuquerque train station for a train that was already late, I sat back and thought a little bit about my trip. Though I had not been blessed with the epiphanies about life that I had hoped for, I knew by now that the trip was good for my soul. Contemplating my last 28 days, I casually scanned around the lobby and was struck by the sheer numbers of people waiting with me. I knew that this leg, back into LA, would not be a relaxing one.
Two hours late the train finally pulled into Albuquerque and there was a mad burst of energy as bodies old and young flew into motion in a desperate attempt to be the first to board. I never could quite understand this phenomenon. Though I know that it is solely experienced during train travel, I always wonder why people are in such a rush to sit back down, especially since this new seat will be their prison for the next umpteen hours.
To make matters worse, even with the delay, there was zero organization out of Amtrak out on the platform and people milled about in hopeful confusion, hoping they were at least close to the correct car. One conductor did decide to check a few people onto the last car but, minutes later, he had a change of heart and left a large group still standing by the open door. As he made his way to the next car he did nothing to quiet the confusion amongst the riders milling about on the platform when he casually told all of the LA passengers that they were supposed to be on the unattended car he came from.
Now standing in front of this door, in line but with no real idea of what was going on, I wondered what exactly he expected people to do. Humorously, left with no specific directions, people decided to do exactly I expected tired, cranky travelers to do and boarded on their own. Of course, by the time I hoisted myself up the narrow staircase of this car the only seats available were the ones left spare due to the stink, size or abject craziness of the person in the neighboring seat. Knowing that there would be empty seats in another car, I did what any rationale individual would and bee-lined it forward. Got to love Amtrak's idea of comfort.
Spying an empty row I stashed my gear and settled in, but deep down I knew that the vacancy of the seat next to me was just a tease. I knew this not only because my luck seemed to be less than stellar right now, but also because I noticed the group of people milling about, who, like me, seemed a bit unsure of what to do.
Shortly after we started rolling westbound for California, a conductor came by and asked where everyone was seated. Collectively he was told that no one had any idea.
You see, instead of just allowing everyone to find their own seat or at least having enough conductors to actually do the job (or, God forbid, have someone outside directing traffic), we all were pleased to bear witness to a conductor trying desperately to quell his rage over the disorganization he directly caused. Finally drawing his attention to me, the scrawny Mexican man shook his head at my boldness to enter a train without a boarding pass (even though this was common in 80% of my travels) and told me to move to make room for the family of four that was now addressing me with a shared look of stifled disbelief.
Finally getting a grasp on everyone's seating (the irony being that he only had to move two of the 30 people who found their own way), the conductor briskly walked me up to the front of the car and directed me to a seat next to an older lady who looked completely comfortable enjoying her twilight years. As soon as she saw me eyeing the seat next to her though, this woman of about 60 moved with a grace and speed usually reserved for bendy teenagers and switched to a seat next to her friend. A touch offended, but glad to be in my own town, my joy was short lived as I looked up and saw a youthful looking blond lady in a long black skirt hesitantly lowering herself into the seat next to me.
Two hours late the train finally pulled into Albuquerque and there was a mad burst of energy as bodies old and young flew into motion in a desperate attempt to be the first to board. I never could quite understand this phenomenon. Though I know that it is solely experienced during train travel, I always wonder why people are in such a rush to sit back down, especially since this new seat will be their prison for the next umpteen hours.
To make matters worse, even with the delay, there was zero organization out of Amtrak out on the platform and people milled about in hopeful confusion, hoping they were at least close to the correct car. One conductor did decide to check a few people onto the last car but, minutes later, he had a change of heart and left a large group still standing by the open door. As he made his way to the next car he did nothing to quiet the confusion amongst the riders milling about on the platform when he casually told all of the LA passengers that they were supposed to be on the unattended car he came from.
Now standing in front of this door, in line but with no real idea of what was going on, I wondered what exactly he expected people to do. Humorously, left with no specific directions, people decided to do exactly I expected tired, cranky travelers to do and boarded on their own. Of course, by the time I hoisted myself up the narrow staircase of this car the only seats available were the ones left spare due to the stink, size or abject craziness of the person in the neighboring seat. Knowing that there would be empty seats in another car, I did what any rationale individual would and bee-lined it forward. Got to love Amtrak's idea of comfort.
Spying an empty row I stashed my gear and settled in, but deep down I knew that the vacancy of the seat next to me was just a tease. I knew this not only because my luck seemed to be less than stellar right now, but also because I noticed the group of people milling about, who, like me, seemed a bit unsure of what to do.
Shortly after we started rolling westbound for California, a conductor came by and asked where everyone was seated. Collectively he was told that no one had any idea.
You see, instead of just allowing everyone to find their own seat or at least having enough conductors to actually do the job (or, God forbid, have someone outside directing traffic), we all were pleased to bear witness to a conductor trying desperately to quell his rage over the disorganization he directly caused. Finally drawing his attention to me, the scrawny Mexican man shook his head at my boldness to enter a train without a boarding pass (even though this was common in 80% of my travels) and told me to move to make room for the family of four that was now addressing me with a shared look of stifled disbelief.
Finally getting a grasp on everyone's seating (the irony being that he only had to move two of the 30 people who found their own way), the conductor briskly walked me up to the front of the car and directed me to a seat next to an older lady who looked completely comfortable enjoying her twilight years. As soon as she saw me eyeing the seat next to her though, this woman of about 60 moved with a grace and speed usually reserved for bendy teenagers and switched to a seat next to her friend. A touch offended, but glad to be in my own town, my joy was short lived as I looked up and saw a youthful looking blond lady in a long black skirt hesitantly lowering herself into the seat next to me.
One of those women for whom looks assuredly made life simple, Dell was a sweet down to earth Texan out on a girls' vacation with her fellow retirees, the fast moving Shari and the devilish Bev. Traveling to LA for a coastal three day road trip, these ladies took a little while to warm up to me but, once they realized that I was gentleman (a good show if I do say so myself) and that I was not quite as homeless as I looked, they finally settled in to enjoy the trip.
It was fun learning how these three women had met and why they had remained friends for years. I guess yearly adventures really do help. As I heard all of their back stories, Dell filled me in on her life as a saleswoman and her bonding with Shari over a shared grief of losing children. As we were sitting there (blame it on the wine freely flowing between the three) Dell grabbed her friend's phone and decided to take a picture of the two of us.
"For a single friend who decided last minute she couldn't make it. Gonna make her jealous."
Now I am not sure how a picture of a graying middle aged man can elicit jealousy, but I am glad to know that the friend they were wanting to set me up with was at least my age. While I was trying to figure out how a yoga teaching 40 year old befriended three women of retirement age, Dell and I started talking religion.
Iinitially hesitant to delve too deeply with my questions to the self professed devout Christian seated next to me, I was happy to note that in spite of the fact that Dell believed that her religion was the right religion, she was wise enough to note that this meant "for her" rather than for everyone looking for salvation. She did however have a difficult time reconciling to me how only people who belief in Jesus were allowed into heaven, but at least she was open minded enough to note that this was just her opinion.
After a horrible night's sleep in which we both intermittently woke to make sure we weren't up in each other's business, we decided to finally embrace the early morning hours and turned our attention to filling the remaining hours until LA with chatter. Arriving at the LA's Union Station, I noted that I had an hour to spare before my connection; turning to the ladies I thanked them for the entertainment and wished them well on the rest of their journey.
Back in the marble lobby I now knew well, I walked up to the information board to figure out the when and where for my train home. Finding the Coast Starlight on the board I was confused to note that there was no information about time or track yet posted. Looking behind me at the abundance of people milling about, I realized I was not the only one.
A half hour after scheduled departure, and taking consolation in the fact that none of my fellow train mates seemed to be going anywhere, information about our train was finally up and I hoofed it, along with most of the now restless crew, down to track 11. As I summited the ramp, my car in sight, I was stopped by a conductor asking where my boarding pass was. Hmm... Why had no one relayed this to me or anyone else boarding this train? Why would so many people be left to stand around in ignorance while waiting for a train that mandated a boarding pass that only a select few knew about. Wouldn't it have made sense to have the ticket agent step out and pass along that information when they saw the abundance of people milling about?
It was fun learning how these three women had met and why they had remained friends for years. I guess yearly adventures really do help. As I heard all of their back stories, Dell filled me in on her life as a saleswoman and her bonding with Shari over a shared grief of losing children. As we were sitting there (blame it on the wine freely flowing between the three) Dell grabbed her friend's phone and decided to take a picture of the two of us.
"For a single friend who decided last minute she couldn't make it. Gonna make her jealous."
Now I am not sure how a picture of a graying middle aged man can elicit jealousy, but I am glad to know that the friend they were wanting to set me up with was at least my age. While I was trying to figure out how a yoga teaching 40 year old befriended three women of retirement age, Dell and I started talking religion.
Iinitially hesitant to delve too deeply with my questions to the self professed devout Christian seated next to me, I was happy to note that in spite of the fact that Dell believed that her religion was the right religion, she was wise enough to note that this meant "for her" rather than for everyone looking for salvation. She did however have a difficult time reconciling to me how only people who belief in Jesus were allowed into heaven, but at least she was open minded enough to note that this was just her opinion.
After a horrible night's sleep in which we both intermittently woke to make sure we weren't up in each other's business, we decided to finally embrace the early morning hours and turned our attention to filling the remaining hours until LA with chatter. Arriving at the LA's Union Station, I noted that I had an hour to spare before my connection; turning to the ladies I thanked them for the entertainment and wished them well on the rest of their journey.
Back in the marble lobby I now knew well, I walked up to the information board to figure out the when and where for my train home. Finding the Coast Starlight on the board I was confused to note that there was no information about time or track yet posted. Looking behind me at the abundance of people milling about, I realized I was not the only one.
A half hour after scheduled departure, and taking consolation in the fact that none of my fellow train mates seemed to be going anywhere, information about our train was finally up and I hoofed it, along with most of the now restless crew, down to track 11. As I summited the ramp, my car in sight, I was stopped by a conductor asking where my boarding pass was. Hmm... Why had no one relayed this to me or anyone else boarding this train? Why would so many people be left to stand around in ignorance while waiting for a train that mandated a boarding pass that only a select few knew about. Wouldn't it have made sense to have the ticket agent step out and pass along that information when they saw the abundance of people milling about?
And so began the journey BACK to the lobby towards the ticket office. On my way I periodically stopped the people I recognized and told them to follow me if they did not have their boarding passes. By the time I made it to the desk I had six people in tow and we all waited as the young black woman flipped through seating charts to find us seats. I swear, watching her work I could feel life pass through me as easily as I could sense the apathy and disdain emanating from her.
Finally boarding the last train I would be riding for awhile, my elation to on my way home was quickly subdued when I saw that I was in possession of the worst seat on any train. Located in the middle of each car, directly across from the stairs that EVERYONE uses, I always looked at the people in these seats with empathy and compassion as I walked past them. These seats were the epicenters of each car, not only for their stairwells leading off and on the train and to the only bathrooms, but also because they were across from the trash cans. Thankfully, a month of train travel had taught me a few tricks capable of drowning out extraneous noise (though most notably, it was my deaf ear that worked best).
Weary and disappointed, I realized that I still did not have a ticket all the way back to Albany and I set about rectifying that situation. Dialing Amtrak I delved into inquiring why they thought it was ethical or moral to charge a repeat customer $113 to remain on a train he was already aboard. It took me explaining my situation over and over again to three people in customers service before the third finally realized that, I did indeed need to be transferred outside of his department. "You see, I need Customer RELATIONS, not Service. Yes, I said that a few minutes ago. No, I would not like to take a survey right now, nor do I think you want me to...."
The most frustrating part of it all is that, while it took me no more than two minutes to be connected to each of the first three people, I was put on hold for an hour and ten minutes when it was finally determined that I needed to talk to Customer Relations. By this time I had reached my boiling point, but it was not solely my anger that caused me to hang up.
As each new passenger passenger entered the train and eyed the seat next to me, I could feel the anger inside of me growing. That is, until I saw the tight floor length floral skirt and looked up at the cute young Mexican woman warily looking between her ticket and the empty seat next to me. I was glad I shaved back in Albuquerque.
After getting over the shock of having to sit down next to a man casually reclining in fleece pants and a long sleeve T, she sat down and set about making herself comfortable. Wanting to set her at ease I dove into my treasure trove of ice breakers to gain a better background into who this pale skinned Latin woman was and what made her tick. Thankfully that gentleman charm I sometimes possess worked and within a few minutes I could see the stress and hesitancy evaporate from her face. As we bonded over soccer and our belief that the higher education system is a joke if you don't know what you want to study, Janet and I killed the brief time we had before she detrained in Oxnard to spend time with her new boyfriend.
The distraction of good conversation gone, I used the next hour to readdress my tenuous situation with the two conductors periodically walking through my car. I knew it was useless though as I was told, again, that there was nothing they could do about getting me to Albany without paying the extra charge. Only one person, out of the nine Amtrak employees I talked to face to face and on the phone, took the time to acknowledge that my situation was indeed a shitty one and that there should be some way to make it right. Thank God at least one person possessed enough common decency to go against the mandated Amtrak customer service response of, "sorry, nothing I can do".
Trusting his judgement I ran into the San Luis Obispo station for some help and spent five minutes trying to persuade an unwilling employee to listen and another five minutes waiting for him to get off of the phone so he could give me back my credit card, license and my $113 ticket. I was barely out the door when the ALL ABOARD was given and the train started to move. To add further insult to injury, I was now in possession of a blank destination card used to show where each passenger was slated to disembark, a token left over by my fit traveling companion now off galavanting in Oxnard.
As it turns out, Janet had never been officially checked in on the train. It would have been the perfect ruse... Write ALY on the back of the blank card now in my possession and convince the conductors that I had a ticket. Sadly, after doing just that (though in possession of a valid ticket), both conductors looked at the ALY and said, "oh, good, you got it all taken care of" without even asking for or looking at my ticket.
Looking back I am left with a feeling that I should trust my gut as I had a premonition about using a spare card to save me money. I guess I really to need to listen to the universe more.
As daylight faded to dusk, I could feel the darkness and I was reminded of the black ball of anger smoldering inside me. I was tired of traveling by train. I was tired of dealing with idiots. Most of all I was tired of dealing with rules and policies that made the journey far less spectacular than it could have been.
I just wanted to be home.
Waking up in Southern Oregon the next morning, I looked out the window to admire the beautiful, cloudless blue sky sitting in wait for the bright morning sun to crest over the desert hills. As I sat there staring out over the landscape slowly coming into focus, I thought about where I had been and all I had seen and was stuck by just how beautiful Oregon really was. I knew that if I ever left the Pacific Northwest I would miss the green of the trees and the majesty of the mountains, but it was precisely this beauty that made me realize that this may be the only reason I still lived here.
Is that enough?
Finally boarding the last train I would be riding for awhile, my elation to on my way home was quickly subdued when I saw that I was in possession of the worst seat on any train. Located in the middle of each car, directly across from the stairs that EVERYONE uses, I always looked at the people in these seats with empathy and compassion as I walked past them. These seats were the epicenters of each car, not only for their stairwells leading off and on the train and to the only bathrooms, but also because they were across from the trash cans. Thankfully, a month of train travel had taught me a few tricks capable of drowning out extraneous noise (though most notably, it was my deaf ear that worked best).
Weary and disappointed, I realized that I still did not have a ticket all the way back to Albany and I set about rectifying that situation. Dialing Amtrak I delved into inquiring why they thought it was ethical or moral to charge a repeat customer $113 to remain on a train he was already aboard. It took me explaining my situation over and over again to three people in customers service before the third finally realized that, I did indeed need to be transferred outside of his department. "You see, I need Customer RELATIONS, not Service. Yes, I said that a few minutes ago. No, I would not like to take a survey right now, nor do I think you want me to...."
The most frustrating part of it all is that, while it took me no more than two minutes to be connected to each of the first three people, I was put on hold for an hour and ten minutes when it was finally determined that I needed to talk to Customer Relations. By this time I had reached my boiling point, but it was not solely my anger that caused me to hang up.
As each new passenger passenger entered the train and eyed the seat next to me, I could feel the anger inside of me growing. That is, until I saw the tight floor length floral skirt and looked up at the cute young Mexican woman warily looking between her ticket and the empty seat next to me. I was glad I shaved back in Albuquerque.
After getting over the shock of having to sit down next to a man casually reclining in fleece pants and a long sleeve T, she sat down and set about making herself comfortable. Wanting to set her at ease I dove into my treasure trove of ice breakers to gain a better background into who this pale skinned Latin woman was and what made her tick. Thankfully that gentleman charm I sometimes possess worked and within a few minutes I could see the stress and hesitancy evaporate from her face. As we bonded over soccer and our belief that the higher education system is a joke if you don't know what you want to study, Janet and I killed the brief time we had before she detrained in Oxnard to spend time with her new boyfriend.
The distraction of good conversation gone, I used the next hour to readdress my tenuous situation with the two conductors periodically walking through my car. I knew it was useless though as I was told, again, that there was nothing they could do about getting me to Albany without paying the extra charge. Only one person, out of the nine Amtrak employees I talked to face to face and on the phone, took the time to acknowledge that my situation was indeed a shitty one and that there should be some way to make it right. Thank God at least one person possessed enough common decency to go against the mandated Amtrak customer service response of, "sorry, nothing I can do".
Trusting his judgement I ran into the San Luis Obispo station for some help and spent five minutes trying to persuade an unwilling employee to listen and another five minutes waiting for him to get off of the phone so he could give me back my credit card, license and my $113 ticket. I was barely out the door when the ALL ABOARD was given and the train started to move. To add further insult to injury, I was now in possession of a blank destination card used to show where each passenger was slated to disembark, a token left over by my fit traveling companion now off galavanting in Oxnard.
As it turns out, Janet had never been officially checked in on the train. It would have been the perfect ruse... Write ALY on the back of the blank card now in my possession and convince the conductors that I had a ticket. Sadly, after doing just that (though in possession of a valid ticket), both conductors looked at the ALY and said, "oh, good, you got it all taken care of" without even asking for or looking at my ticket.
Looking back I am left with a feeling that I should trust my gut as I had a premonition about using a spare card to save me money. I guess I really to need to listen to the universe more.
As daylight faded to dusk, I could feel the darkness and I was reminded of the black ball of anger smoldering inside me. I was tired of traveling by train. I was tired of dealing with idiots. Most of all I was tired of dealing with rules and policies that made the journey far less spectacular than it could have been.
I just wanted to be home.
Waking up in Southern Oregon the next morning, I looked out the window to admire the beautiful, cloudless blue sky sitting in wait for the bright morning sun to crest over the desert hills. As I sat there staring out over the landscape slowly coming into focus, I thought about where I had been and all I had seen and was stuck by just how beautiful Oregon really was. I knew that if I ever left the Pacific Northwest I would miss the green of the trees and the majesty of the mountains, but it was precisely this beauty that made me realize that this may be the only reason I still lived here.
Is that enough?
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