Naturally, I was appalled. I'd always assumed the trusty voice overhead was coming from the control room, from the man behind the wheel. But all this time it was one of his colleagues speaking into a plastic phone next to a crockpot of Ivar's clam chowder.
It gets worse. After the announcement, the guy walks by my table, grabs my empty pretzel bag and throws it away for me! First he uses a tiny train kitchen as communications HQ, then he fills in as train janitor! I was embarrassed and ashamed that someone in such a respected role—locomotive engineer—was cleaning up my trash.
He should be:
...Autographing a child's toy steam engine
...Ringing a bell and waving to fellow conductors in passing trains
...Getting a bronze statue of him erected in his hometown
...Shouting 'All aboard!' and then helping a lady in white gloves with a circle-shaped purse hop on the train at the last second
NOT going home with pretzel grease on his hands, uniform stinking of Ivar's clam chowder.
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| Image by Ben Schumin via Wikimedia Commons |
Goodnight,
Margaret
P.S. The thoughts I expressed above occurred in my brain over a two-second timeframe. It's amazing how much the brain processes in so little time. Writing the thoughts down took at least 10 times longer than my brain spent creating then. And now that I've taken the time to write them down, I'm not sure it was worthwhile. Oh well.
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