The Dining Car

My crazy companion was three cars behind me on the train that we shared. Most likely it was then, while I was seated in the dining car, that he began sipping on his Hennessey. He was no worry to me. At that point, I had escaped our grueling conversation and was enjoying the scene in front of me.

There were only seven tables in the car. They reminded me of the cheap booths that lined the walls of the cafeteria at West. As I slid into my booth, I noticed the lip that was on the edge of the table. It guarded any unprotected lap from spills. Other than that, it was like any other booth.

I sat with my back to the last booth in the car. A man had his back to mine and had covered his table-top with papers. He was distracted by no one and seemed intensely focused on the work before him.

I unwrapped my sub. It was ham and cheese and the cheese oozed out the sides. Yum. I looked around at the other Amtrak patrons with whom I dined. I felt, for my time there, like an Edward Hopper painting.

In front of me was an odd trio. A man with gray hair sat across from a couple. His bow tie was blue and his shirt pin striped. His jacket, though meant to look expensive, looked much less costly paired with the cheap tie. The couple facing him were not together. She had slipped in last. Her British accent hung in the air and I could tell the gray haired man facing her was trying his best to impress. So was the man beside her. She was, in fact, the only woman their age in the car. The man beside her had his own distinct accent. It was rich with Southern tones and his Budweiser, faded hat, and flannel shirt played on the stereotype in my head. He had his elbow on the back of their shared perch. His torso faced her and his Budweiser never left his hand.

Behind them (and in the last booth on my side of the car) sat another trio. It was three giggling teens. Two of whom were girls. All three looked like an American Eagle ad. Their clothes were layered, with appropriate tucks and outages. The girls focused their attention on their shared male companion. There was the occasional hair flippage (by all three). His hair was shaggy and both of the girls had headbands holding their longer manes back. I was much less interested in their ad than the bow tie trio.

Across from the teens sat an older black couple. I was envious. They were playing cards. He was facing me and she was facing her scotch and him. It wasn't poker. They were playing with too many cards. I learned later what it was, but I've since forgotten. They seemed oblivious to the car around them... even to one another, as there was little conversation exchanged. Their individual trances were broken only by the flip of a new card.

At this point, I opened up my laptop and started a game of solitaire. Disappointed with the less than entertaining results, I peered over my computer at the other patrons.

A man sat by himself behind the card players. He was older than the other gray haired, bow tie man and was balding. The remnants of what he ate earlier sat in front of him. A sandwich container similar to my own. His gut barely fit in the booth. He was lost in his book. He was in the center of it- no doubt caught up in characters far from the fluorescent lit car.

I should have brought a book. I stared at my solitaire game and looked at the couple playing. Next time, I'm riding with someone who can play cards with me.

In the booth to my immediate left sat the conductor. One of them. I learned later, from my crazy seat buddy, that an average of three conductors ride on the train. They trade off and relieve each other. I guess the one beside me was on a break. He was joined by two other workers who apparently were of lower rank than he. They were discussing the stops. What was next, what was after that, and how Greensboro was "going to be a pain" because there were so many bags to unload.

Good, I thought. We won't be rushed too quickly off the train.

The conductor barely looked up from his paperwork. He was adding figures. They were the number of people getting off at each stop. Twenty three were getting off in Greensboro. I was one of his figures. Just a number and a woman staring at a solitaire game.

My attention fell outside the window. It was dark and I could see nothing but an occasional orange light race by. Well, I guess we were the ones racing. The lights stood still against the darkness as our dining car passed.