She Likes Trains Railroad High School Better than high school. I keep saying that in texsts and conversations. It must be true. The railroad, my social life, is better than high school. And safer, too. Remember when I sat on the patio wondering when I would finally make my move and meet the engineers. We don’t have courage till we need it, I tell someone once, about a totally different subject. But, it is true. A completely fictional character spawned from my dramatic introduction to the railroad gave me the courage to go out and meet the real one. The real one turned out to be the best. Everythign else is icing on the cake. And it is better than high school. Tonight, Tuesday October 9 is another milestone on my journey, a little unexpected. I finally learn the identity of one of the engineers I want to meet. He is a character, it seems. I haen’t gottn to introduce myself, but I will. I’ll tell you about him in my story. And still he has to line up behind my number one engineer. My railroad social life is way better than high school. It is one of those nights that maybe could only happen to me. But, maybe it’s happened to you, too. Crossing the floor of the break room at work, exiting the building, something I’ve done for five years, going on six next month, if I last that long there. It wont be me who pulls the plug. At least not then. If it’s pulled, it will be someone else. But in the eman time, strolling across the tailed floor past chairs and tables, people sitting in the booths on one side on break, enjoying microwave creations or other culinary offerings, putting my hand on the door, pushing the steel and glass door to my eight hour cage open I inhale the cool, balmy air, fresh, cool, a welcome relief from the stifling heat of August an September. It is time for dinner. Will I go to the train station tonight? That is the question I even put it on my FaceBook status. Entering the restaurant, my favorite Mexican restaurant where I called Glenn my friendly engineer in January 2011 to tell him he missed a fatality on 708 because he left the week before it happened. This was after the conversation in the parking lot about 221’s fatality. There are memories here. Many good meals. Many mediocre ones. But, tonight the food is good. I’m not calling any engineers asking about fatalities. Hands on the plastic restaurant ice tea glass, biting into the chips, feeding myself tacos and salsa and my standard bean and cheese burrito, I sit, relax, and wonder. Home? Trains? What wil it be? Somehow leaving the building my feet take me past Vons, past the Starbucks which is my usual spot for starting my day. The corner is quiet, and it’s across Oak I go, to Center Street, crossing to Anaheim Boulevard, the bus stop for the fullerton train station. Maybe it’s the extra $20.00 I found in my wallet that gives me the courage I need for this journey. It’s not so dramatic, really, just one of thoseindecisive moments where I stand at the crossroads and know I have to make a decision. It will be the same weather, the same day, but two different possibilities. Crossing the street, finding my spot, here’s the bus and here I am sitting street side looking out the window, the baby resting n my lap, slightly heavy from its light load, the Starbucks mug, the extra bag, the broken cane, the apples or whatever is in it, water bottles, money, hand towels, and baby wipes, useful for whatever, I tell a curious person once. This is my bag, the sustainer and comforter of railroad crews everywhere, and my workaday bag, comfortable on my lap, hands on d rings, waiting. This will take me to the station, let me off here where I will make my way across the bridge to the train. Before I do that I go to the café to use the restroom, someone has a fit inside. Guess someone knocked one too many times. I wait meekly. Sorry, he says, he’s been in the hospital, and whatever. All I know is I’m done and I’m on my way across the bridge to the south side of paradise. Toddlers and middle aged parents line the stairs, waiting for the train, showing their kids the glorious tons of steel and glass and plastic, alloys, brass, a train’s make up. “Move Jeremy,” says one woman, warning a younger man that I am coming and I’m about to make my own way past the knot of onlookers. We wave. I fly down the three flights of stairs, making my right turn, lining up for the six car marker. I’ve made bobby’s train. “Shelley!” Someone is always hailing me here. Last time it was Rosalind, saving me from collapse when Glenn defected to Lancaster. I always call it his defection but somehow it got better when he went to Lancaster. I got more time with him. Less often, but more productive. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Sometimes, wait. Always wait. Always worth the wait. Two lives hyperventilating to a twenty minute stop on a brief phone call, if plagued by bluetooth and lost keys or keys locked in a truck, or drives to Lancaster, or me pacing, or holding the cat. No matter that day when I was accosted by a woman I hadn’t seen in twelve years saving my day. Now, I wait for the magic train, 608, at my spot. This time it’s Cheryl from work. We’ve met once on Eddie’s train and they teased me mercilessly. Now, here she is, taking the 608 train to Laguna Niguel. “Bobby’s train,” I say. “Let me buy you a ticket on this train. You can go down with one engineer and go back with another engineer,” she says. No. I’ll do that tomorrow. “Come on, it wil be fun.” Hmm. Well, we are here. And, Glenn’s nephew is on this train if ther’s not an extra tonight. And, well, I’m not getting up in the morning. So, okay. We miss the freights and 707. We wait. We discuss work. It’s been slow and busy. We’ve gone through a system enhancement or something. I don’t know what awaits. Bobby’s lights dim, unlike 4 whose engineer either didn’t remember to or didn’t’ plan to dim his lights when approaching the station. I believe general code for operating the train asks crews to dim the lights when approaching stations. “Well, he almost blinded me,” she tells me. My Metrolink guys wouldn’t do that. Confident hands dimming switches for lights and bells, warning us that they’re on their way. Love calls and comforts me imagining my men of the railroad doing this. He passes. I wave. Bye. Bye. We make our way past the screaming locomotive, I can’t tell tonight if it’s the EMD or MPI, seems like a combination of both, maybe it’s 800 or maybe I just haven’t walked past the engine part of the engine in a while. We wait. People continue to stream out of the open cars, carrying bags with bows and tassels, blue, red, black, silver, chocolate, brief cases black and formal. The grip hangs from my shoulder, ringing with its bells. Finally, we can get on. “stand clear, doors are closing,” says the conductor, a youngish sounding conductor. Sitting in the hall where on my first meeting with Glenn I say I won’t sit. Here I am. No one is sitting here. We are on our way. The bell rings, we pass the crossings. The conductor is somewhere, but not here. No switch troubles, no signal issues, no mechanical issues. We pass the time. “Does this train stop in Laguna or go on to Ocean Side?” “This one goes on to Ocean Side,” I reply. Train 642 only goes to laguna. Train 645 goes from laguna to Fullerton. The next train, 644, goes to Ocean Side. Why do I know this? Three years ago when we all sat on the patio Bob the ring leader says I know my Metrolink trains. I guess I do know them now. Ok I don’t know all of them. I do know these trains. And, I remember when we watched the track being laid for 645. Remember Glenn told me about it. I pointed behind me. Yeah, he said. Or, did I tell him about it? Someone told someone, that’s for sure. Now, here we are proceeding toward Laguna all so I can get on 645 and talk to Richard. So, what am I going to tell him exactly? Wait andsee. We reach Laguna. I keep wondering where the conductor is? He sure seems familiar to me. Is it possible that I know him after all? No. I know the names of a few conductors, some I have met, some I haven’t. Eddie, Richard, and another Glenn. Maybe I only kno the names of two Metrolink conductors? I’ve concentrated on the engineers, of course. That was my Chatswoth connection. That’s where it all goes back to, isn’t it? Yes, but it gets better from there. Much, much better. The conductor appears and says hello. If I’m going to say anything it’s now. “Money?” I ask. I was never this brave with the engineers. They are the brave ones. I lingered under the stair rails before I talked to Glen, or I should say before Janice brought me to the cab and he stuck his head out the window and sayd “She likes trains!” Sweet, magical Glenn. This is so much easier. “jared,” he says. Oh. Ok now I’m excited and that explains everything. I’ve seen him a couple of times when he’s been on the Laguna trains, that’s what we call them. And, lots of FaceBook time. He’s the one who told me about the engineer who had the breakdown and couldn’t run the train, the story I used for the basis of my “Convincing the Engineer” essay. He puts his keys in the door, they clatter cheerfully and energetically. Bobby still pulls his train to its marker. Someho I want to get out there, not sure why, I don’t realize it’s moving, and then somehow I figure it out. I keep thinking he’s standing there how am I going to get passed that? Silly me, guess I just have this urge to jump from moving trains? No way. Out of airplanes, sure, but trains, no ay! Somehow we talk. Cheryl engages him as she engages everyone. On the trip over we’ve been talkinga bout Unstoppable and movies. But why Is Jared on this train? It tturns out, Joe will be off for a while, he says. He was working on his car and injured his hand, lost the tips of his ring finger and another one. Oh, dear. Another reason to call Glenn? I never told Glenn I knew Joe was his nephew. That’s what bobby told me once. All my engineers telling me about all my other ones and their conductors. Bobby, he’s the best teller of tales. This engineer has attitude. This one is here and this one should retire. Cary, now, he should retire. He tells me who the extras are on the Laguna train I remember I knew no one’s name. Now, I know the names of some of the engineers I haven’t met yet. I have to meet all of them. Tonight I learn more names, or I’m reminded of them, giving me more ideas. Now that I know some of the conductors maybe I can find out what number they’re on and go meet them? This is possibly getting more fun than I bargained for. This kind of comes naturally for me, not sure why. I feel like I did when I used to make friends easily and have parties at my place way back in the nineties. In some ways this is like returning to my pre work days when I was a host. It’s just fun not feeling so stifled by the chains of full time employment. And yet these guys are on the clock when I come to see them. Tonight, bobby breaks hard, almost knocking me off my feet. I remember when Glenn said once you had to remember not to knock them on their ass” his words, not mine. That’s why I like Glenn he just calls it as he sees it. It’sreally fine. Now, tonight, it’s time to detrain. I step down the two steps, brushing my hand against jared’s keys. I’ve always loved conductor keys even before I was into trains. I remember when I was on the Starlight in the seventies I was fascinated by keys. I don’t stop to investigate them now. We’re on a tight feeding schedule. But, I am intrigued. “I want those keys,” I think I say. “I’ll trade.” I can’t remember his response. I think he said no with a smile or something. Never mind. I’ve seen his keys. This is only one set of keys. I look down at mine. I sport my four switch keys now, the C&NW, Chicago and Northwestern, Santa Fe, Southern pacific, and Union pacific. I have one key for all the road my engineers have been on, except the C&NW. It was just a cool key and I took their word for it. It’s probably the most unique among my keys. The engineer, the former BNSF one I ahven’t seen in a while has seen my keys. Remember, never show the engineer your switch key on the first date, right? But it’s ok to show them to the conductor. It’s a loong story you’ll have to read “The Railroad Facts of Life” to get the full explanation. That little joke made bobby laugh. It goes like this: Never show the engineer your switch key. How rude! Everythign is a joke in railroading, except the serious business of running the train, and even that sometimes, as you’ll see later, has some humor attached. But that’s the next steps on this adventure. ‘ So far I’ve been kidnapped, thrown on the magic train, seen a conductor I know at work, someone that has helped me out a lot, learned that Glenn’s nephew was injured and will be off work for a while, and tried to take the conductor’s keys. I’ve been acused of trying to take a Harley before, but never a conductor’s keys. And, it’s not over yet. Now, we detrain, and walk toward the locomotive. “Shelley!” It’s Bobby. I wave and smile. “He was definitely waving at Shelley,” says Cheryl. Me. How far we’ve come. The girl who only dreamed of meeting these guys, now they call to me, comfort my desire to know what it’s like to be up there. If I could go with Glenn, some time, but for now, for here, it is enough. We take the stairs down to the other track, but there’s time. We hop in Cheryl’s car, investigate the businesses, some gun shops that are closed now of course, end up at Chick Filet and order two Diet Doctor Peppers. The person working knows Cheryl, they haven’t seen each other in a while, and the drinks are free. We drive back to the tracks, talk about her room mate who helped everybody and died recently. Somehow I escape the entrance of the train. How can you not know when a train is coming Especially when it’s so quiet, two tracks? A freight passes us. We get out of the car and head down to the cab car. Where do you wan to sit, she asks. The cab car. I don’t want a forty mile walk when we get to Fullerton. Besides, the engineer isn’t in the engine. He’s down here. But I don’t meet him. Richard is there. I use the rest room, settle in, and here he is. “Mission accomplished,” I say. “Whats’ that?” I just reread the journal entry when he handed out candy on the 607 the day I met Glenn for the first time. “The only way I was going to be able to talk to you was to get on this train.” I knew he would talk to me if I could get on the train. He hasn’t been deliberately ignoring me, he’s just talking to his girlfriend, eating dinner, getting ready to run his train to Laguna, train 642. Somehow talking to him is easy. “I just wanted to say thank you for helping to introduce me to Glenn. I don’t know if you remembered me.” ‘Mr. Steele.” He knows who I’m talking about. “Yes. That man is awesome. I love Glenn.” I’m not afraid to admit it to anyone, especially not this guy. Don’t know why. That’s just how it is. “You won’t see him anymore. He’s up in Lancaster,” he says wisely. Does he know? “I know,” I say, triumphing where the slow engineer failed, the one who sort of paid attention to Wendy in the café. “I talk to him. I got his number.” He doesn’t seem surprised. Maybe it’s just a railroad thing. Maybe it’s a glenn thing. Sometimes in newspapers after accidents they’ll show places along the rails where people have died. I think they should publish a map showing the endless miles of track and putting little dots where Glenn has friends I bet those tracks would be inundated with dots. People everywhere must remember him. Richard has been working trains for nineteen years, he says. “When is Glenn going to retire? He keeps talking about it.” Glenn will not retire till it suits him, I think. I don’t tell Richard that. It’s just what I think. He may be tired, and can’t wait not to work for the railroad, but he’s smart enough to stay with it till he’s done. He’s a har dworking guy. I hope he doesn’t feel used up. Soemthing about sticking with something you love even if you hate it appeals to me about hin. Anyone, I think. Maybe I just don’t know too many hard working guys, or they’re so hard working I never meet them. In any case, here I am now, in the hallway, holding the bag. I get to talk to Richard. “Where do you work?” I tell him. I tell him about job stresses. “When do you retire?” I ask him. “Eleven more,” he says. “Glenn said three years ago he was done in three years. Now he says at th emost two years.” Well, we know he didn’t retire on Tuesday August 28. I have the text message to prove it. I tell Richard this story. None of my Glen stories seem to surprise him He probably hears everything. Somehow we talk about changing service. He can go anywhere he wants, Richard tells me. He left 607 and 608 because it was no longer the highest paying assignment. Now, 607 and 606 are the highest paying assignments on this line. Wonder when that wil change. I remember Glenn sayin they changed service. Maybe what he meant was they changed pay rates. I don’t’ know. I know he wanted more money. If you read my essay “The Railroad Facts of Life” you’ll know what I’m talking about. The train clips along. The conversation is buried. I allow as how Glenn must have done some planning because his four trains seem to be the least delayed on the Antelope Valley line. “Some people ride those trains with guns,” he says. Glenn just has to stay up in the engine. The conductors are the ones who work the trains. That’s a lot of work. “After you run Amtrak trains for so long you don’t want to go back,” he says. He talks about how those who left Amtrak back then established the seniority system. He says Amtrak crews with more seniority can’t touch them. It’s a game. Our conversation is interrupted by the engineer calling signals. Who is the engineer tonight? Todd, he says. Ah, I know that name. He is an extra. So, that’s who he is. “Metrolink,” pause, “6” pause “40…5…west….clearance….17.91…out.” “Oh, he’s just being funny,” says the nineteen year conductor. “He’s acting like an engineer I used to work with.” I guess you’d have to do something funny to stand the constant running on the rails. We approach Fullerton. He leaves me to do his rounds. “DO you need my ticket?” I ask when he gets back to Fullerton. “I knew you had one,” he says. He walks to the exit and puts down the ramp, the ramp Glenn asked me if I needed in Los Angeles back in October, 2009. I walk down the ramp. “Between you and me,’ I tell Richad. “I don’t like that ramp” He says he puts his foot on it to stabelize it. It’s not that. I just don’t like it, period. I don’t need it. I just prefer not to use them at all. They only use it in the cab car. I sit in the cab car because the engineer is here, not because I want the ramp, and tonight I sit ther because I know that’s wher he’ll be and it’s closer to the corner of track three in Fullerton. I don’t mind walking back from the locomotive but if I’m going to meet ht enegineer I can do it here. Wenever see him. I don’t’ get my chance. But, Richard says Pat is on vacation for two weeks. So, maybeI’ll get to meet him. I’l just go sit up by the locomotive. That’s how I met James and that’s how I saw John. We stand and talk. I wait. Soon, it’s apparent he won’t be down here. He might still be there. He might have gone to the locomotive. Who knows. I’m going to go see if the guys are waiting for the slab train. “It comes close to 10:00,” he says. I know sometimes it comes early. I think it’s gone by now. But I don’t say anything because sometimes indeed it does come on the higher side of 10:00. “Well,” I say, slinging the bag over my shoulder. He hasn’t said anything about it. The last time I was on his train I carried a bright yellow school bus colored messenger bag. I’ve replaced that one with another one like it. But, I hardly use it. I haven’t asked if he recognizes the style. “I’ll let you do your job.” “Okay.” It’s been a nice conversation. “I know he’ll be through here on another train,” I say about meeting Todd. I’ll go find him. “He will,” says Richard. Wonder what he thinks of my interest in meeting engineers? I’m just starting there. You wait. “Nice to see you again,” I say as I make my way back toward track 3 and the bridge. . “Thanks for everything.” I mean that. I am glad I got to meet Glenn and it was on his train. That was three years ago. It’s been three years of bliss. Better than high school. I keep saying that in texsts and conversations. It must be true. The railroad, my social life, is better than high school. And safer, too. Remember when I sat on the patio wondering when I would finally make my move and meet the engineers. We don’t have courage till we need it, I tell someone once, about a totally different subject. But, it is true. A completely fictional character spawned from my dramatic introduction to the railroad gave me the courage to go out and meet the real one. The real one turned out to be the best. Everythign else is icing on the cake. And it is better than high school. Tonight, Tuesday October 9 is another milestone on my journey, a little unexpected. I finally learn the identity of one of the engineers I want to meet. He is a character, it seems. I haen’t gottn to introduce myself, but I will. I’ll tell you about him in my story. And still he has to line up behind my number one engineer. My railroad social life is way better than high school.
Copyright © 2012 Shelley J Alongi |