I'm in South Carolina visiting Amy. I got here via Amtrak. Long gone are the visions of yesteryear when railways were steeped in victorian grace and style. The only things that haven't changed are the Stations, and most of them I've seen are worse for wear if not in complete disrepair. The journey started simple enough. It began with a bus.
Tampa Union Station is being refurnished, having long passed it's expiration date. The service there is akin to that of the Wendy's on East Hillsborough Avenue - people who generally could care less about actually performing their job so much as collecting a paycheck for whatever their weekend vices may be. I'm betting with this lot it was cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon followed by an evening of leering over strippers and/or child pornography.
The bus driver was possibly the most competant employee in the Amtrak stable, with excellent timing and a somewhat genial attitude. Upon arriving at the comparatively modern Orlando Union Station, I was treated to a sleazy looking nacho vendor who was doing his best to peer through the windows of the building and ogle the women or men or children and a train that was close to an hour late. The temperature and irritablility were rising quickly as the stench of perfume, cologne, deoderant, body odor, cigarettes, and spicy spanish cooking intermingled.
When the train finally did arrive, the second most competant Amtrak employee ushered us in, assigning everyone a seat. As I went to the number I was to sit in, I found there was an elderly gay gentleman already sitting there. This was a bit off-putting. I walked my way back to the usher, and told him of the situation.
"Well, you the one I assigned to it. I'll tell him to---wait a minute. My mistake. Just take the next seat." So, in a train car full of empty seats, I'm seated next to "a gay" that keeps looking at me oddly. I don't have anything against gay people. I'm not even uncomfortable around them usually. This guy was giving me the creeps though. As soon as the train starts moving, I head to the Lounge Car, get a Sam Adams, and head to the dining car. This is where I met my new friend Ashley. After finishing a flavorless chicken sandwich and she a cheesecake that was apparently quite good, I made my way to the Lounge, and she to the restroom to take a smoke break. (For those of you planning to travel by train, Ashley clued me in to the almost flawless method of smoking in the bathroom. There's a fan that sucks air outwards, so if you just blow the smoke into it, noone will be the wiser.)
The train continued, and as it proceeded further north, the clientel boarding began to look shadier and shadier. I attempted to watch a few movies on my lap top, but apparently a large part of working on a train involves sitting in the lounge car, talking loudly, then complaining that your movie is too loud and interrupting the conversation.
We entered South Carolina at about 8pm, Ashley went to grab some dinner and brought another new friend back to the table with her. Her name was Inot (sp) and she was from Israel. We shared stories about how effed up the US Foreign Policies have become, the pros and cons of rail travel compared to train travel, and various other interrupted conversations.
The interruptions came from another table in the lounge, where a 48 year old wigger (I shit you not) was in a heated discussion about how his life is blessed and that 50 is the new 40, and some how these two items are related. Thankfully, the train arrived at my stop. I bid my new friends farewell and began my weekend in Charleston, SC.
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2 comments:
Nice piece of travel writing. Train travel still SEEMS more romantic than flying, but I guess the lack of air conditioning in the stations probably puts a damper on things. And remember, U.S. Americans and like such as can't find The Iraq or South Africa on a map, because they don't have maps, or something like that.
The childrens does need education.
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