Quotable: Tellin' it Like it Is
“The train came apart. We have to put it back together.”
– the conductor, 3:30 am
True story. 2 am, somewhere west of Buffalo, NY . . .
Several loud clanks. Grinding and hissing noises from what one presumes to be the emergency brake. The Amtrak Lake Shore Limited 49 jerks quickly to a halt. Lights out (except for a few small ones in the ceiling, enough to see the walkway, shapes, and almost colors). Fans (meaning heat) go off. Less than five seconds from full speed ahead to dead stop and dead silence.
People sit up sleepily and begin to look around. No one speaks for a minute or two. Unlike all other scheduled and unscheduled stops, there is no announcement. Murmurs of speculation start. “A red light? Maybe it’s a single track. Maybe we’re waiting for another train.” “The engine’s broke. That’s why we lost power. It’ll be hours before they can bring a new engine.”
A baby is crying. A few people stand up and move slowly towards the exits. Somebody declares, “Don’t go out that door. It’s gonna get cold. Don’t you open that door.” One man doesn’t listen, and stalks off nervously towards the neighboring car. A minute or two later, another does the same in the opposite direction. Grumbling gets louder. People start to shift anxiously. A pleasant, level-headed, middle aged gentleman walks down the aisle gently telling people to pull the curtains shut to keep the heat in, sometimes leaning over sleeping people to close the curtains himself. Agitation increases. Several tempers are lost at whomever happens to be in the vicinity.
It gets cold. 3 am, still no lights, no heat, no announcements, and no sign of the crew anywhere in the coach cars despite several passengers’ forays in search of them. All we can see through the windows is snow and faint outlines of scrubby woodland lining the tracks. I’m curled up in fetal position across my two seats and huddling under my coat, thermal headband covering my ears and eyes, very glad that I thought to wear leggings under my jeans. Audible protests get harsher but less frequent. Twilight Zone eeriness has long since set in.
Shortly after 3 I call my mom in Chicago to see if she would contact Amtrak to see if they knew we were stranded and why, figuring that some news would be better than none and I could help calm several of the people near me who were pacing or muttering unhappily. Just then the lights and heat came on. “Never mind, sorry to wake you up.” But the hopeful sign lasts maybe a minute. Just kidding. Darkness and silence again. A man in the next car has apparently called Amtrak and is shouting his displeasure for the whole county to hear. He irately echoes everything the operator says. It takes about five minutes for the customer service person to determine that the 49 is delayed, stalled west of Buffalo. We had determined that ourselves, thank you very much.
At 3:30 am, the door opens and the conductor bustles breathlessly down the aisle, not acknowledging anyone. A passenger confronts him, “What’s going on?” “The train came apart. We have to put it back together.” “!? How long are we going to be here?” No response. The conductor disappears. A few minutes later there are clanks, the train shifts a few times, and the lights flicker, then stay on. By 4 am we are underway. We learn later that the joint (or whatever it’s called) between the two sleeping cars had come undone while we were rolling.
True story.
Several loud clanks. Grinding and hissing noises from what one presumes to be the emergency brake. The Amtrak Lake Shore Limited 49 jerks quickly to a halt. Lights out (except for a few small ones in the ceiling, enough to see the walkway, shapes, and almost colors). Fans (meaning heat) go off. Less than five seconds from full speed ahead to dead stop and dead silence.
People sit up sleepily and begin to look around. No one speaks for a minute or two. Unlike all other scheduled and unscheduled stops, there is no announcement. Murmurs of speculation start. “A red light? Maybe it’s a single track. Maybe we’re waiting for another train.” “The engine’s broke. That’s why we lost power. It’ll be hours before they can bring a new engine.”
A baby is crying. A few people stand up and move slowly towards the exits. Somebody declares, “Don’t go out that door. It’s gonna get cold. Don’t you open that door.” One man doesn’t listen, and stalks off nervously towards the neighboring car. A minute or two later, another does the same in the opposite direction. Grumbling gets louder. People start to shift anxiously. A pleasant, level-headed, middle aged gentleman walks down the aisle gently telling people to pull the curtains shut to keep the heat in, sometimes leaning over sleeping people to close the curtains himself. Agitation increases. Several tempers are lost at whomever happens to be in the vicinity.
It gets cold. 3 am, still no lights, no heat, no announcements, and no sign of the crew anywhere in the coach cars despite several passengers’ forays in search of them. All we can see through the windows is snow and faint outlines of scrubby woodland lining the tracks. I’m curled up in fetal position across my two seats and huddling under my coat, thermal headband covering my ears and eyes, very glad that I thought to wear leggings under my jeans. Audible protests get harsher but less frequent. Twilight Zone eeriness has long since set in.
Shortly after 3 I call my mom in Chicago to see if she would contact Amtrak to see if they knew we were stranded and why, figuring that some news would be better than none and I could help calm several of the people near me who were pacing or muttering unhappily. Just then the lights and heat came on. “Never mind, sorry to wake you up.” But the hopeful sign lasts maybe a minute. Just kidding. Darkness and silence again. A man in the next car has apparently called Amtrak and is shouting his displeasure for the whole county to hear. He irately echoes everything the operator says. It takes about five minutes for the customer service person to determine that the 49 is delayed, stalled west of Buffalo. We had determined that ourselves, thank you very much.
At 3:30 am, the door opens and the conductor bustles breathlessly down the aisle, not acknowledging anyone. A passenger confronts him, “What’s going on?” “The train came apart. We have to put it back together.” “!? How long are we going to be here?” No response. The conductor disappears. A few minutes later there are clanks, the train shifts a few times, and the lights flicker, then stay on. By 4 am we are underway. We learn later that the joint (or whatever it’s called) between the two sleeping cars had come undone while we were rolling.
True story.
posted by Ingrid at 5:55 PM
1 Comments:
wow! for a moment i thought you had posted a passage from Atlas Shrugged! eerie...
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