Page 13 - the NOISE August 2013

I walked back to the Amtrak/Greyhound station. The place I had picked to sleep was already taken. I sat at the trolley station and used Greyhound’s internet and saw that a friend had got back to me. He instructed me to go to Emily Rose bar and ask for Natasha. He gave me a couple other suggestions, but this bar was less than a mile away. The trolley pulled up and I asked for directions.
An old man in an American flag jacket who I recognized from the train (keep in mind this is over two hours after we arrived) paid my trolley fare with the card the sheriff had given him for having nowhere to go and suggested we go to the International House of Pancakes. After the trolley, and this guy’s sob story, I had to walk two short blocks.
Natasha hadn’t worked at the bar for two years. The bartender shot the sh*t with a local. Two British dudes loudly and coarsely discussed the welfare state, austerity, and other current affairs. They were very entertaining. The bar slowly filled up after two a.m., and died down again. I bought the bartender a Jameson when my tab wasn’t high enough to use my card. I left a little after three, I think. If I wanted to, I could’ve taken my beverage to go. Who doesn’t love New Orleans?
I took the long way back to the station, and lay down in a corner. I awoke to a security guard who told me the station would be opening soon. I couldn’t remember my dream, but a nice little headache came on as I tried to stay awake waiting for the doors opening. When they did, I brushed my teeth, changed my shirt, and waited for the train. A man with developmental disabilities asked me to help him with the ATM machine. His PIN was 8888, and we found out he did not have 200 or 100 in his account. I went back to my seat and prayed to whomever that this guy wouldn’t get exploited for whatever was in his account.
For some reason, this train isn’t as comfortable as the first one. The coffee I bought after my morning nap hits the spot though. I listen to John Prine and zone out on Cormac McCarthy’s tale of American Mexican cowboys.
The train station in Meridian, Mississippi is nice. Men in orange jump suits clean up garbage from the bushes. They don’t look so tough.
We pass what look like abandoned cars with old graffiti and they only add to the ambiance of the gorgeous Alabama woods. Ancient and mysterious, that old weird beautiful America, before ‘America’ was a word, a curse, a threat, a nightmare, a tragedy, a trademark, a marketing tool, a joke, a graveyard, like the one we pass slowly, not in reverence but because there’s a train in front of us breaking down.
I wake up in Birmingham and it’s raining. The guy in front of me is complaining about them not making the announcement for the smoke break. The train is also leaking only on his stuff. He calls Amtrak from his seat to complain about the fact that he can’t smoke his electronic cigarette — the leaking water is incidental — but this is water vapor coming out of his pipe, what’s the deal, and they tell him to call back. He’s sort of entertaining, but it’s sad watching nicotine withdrawal turn this grown man into a baby. I can feel his chair vibrating on my feet, which hang off the back of his chair. He’s got another guy yelling now, he’s a little more vocal and rude to the actual staff. It’s nice to see white and black coming together in Birmingham, Alabama.
In my mind, I’m saying, listen sir, I’ve never seen this part of the country. It’s blowing my mind. If this is really the worst experience you’ve ever had, as you say, you’ve had the best life of any human being ever. You can get up and move around if you want. You don’t have a seatbelt. You’ve got two seats. I would thank you to chill out and let me enjoy my trip.
More Amtrak Tips: Be cautious if you’re a smoker, unless you’re trying to quit. Enjoy the f*cking ride, assh*le.
The giant baby man decides on an anger nap. Sure enough, he snores like a lawn mower. It sounds peaceful.
The train gets delayed again; more rain, and I give the guy my peace. I was fairly polite. An older lady thanks me and gives me her bag of cashews. It is frustrating, being so close to one’s destination, but I don’t understand what this guy thinks he’s going to accomplish.
The major plus to Amtrak travel is the absence of hassle. Amtrak needs to take advantage of that in all forms. If you’re not going to offer wifi, take your riders back to the 20th century. Offer board games and cards in the viewing cars. Have scheduled fun events on the long stretches. A renting library. Maybe a movie car.
I did my return trip in two legs. I knew what to expect in New Orleans, God bless that city. I met an alcoholic writer who explained to me that New Orleans was founded by thieves and whores and it was named after a cross-dresser. He also told me if I did get tired, I should go to this bathhouse, and he gave me the address, and to rent a room for fifteen bucks. I might have to fight off a dude or two, but it would be peace and quiet once I made it to my room. From there I made friends with some Australians going home to Vancouver (they were taking a plane in LA), coming from Bonnaroo, and we played Skip-Bo. They had brought libations and they shared. We stumbled upon a fantastic meal in Houston. The train wasn’t behind schedule, so we had good healthy layovers. We drank in San Antonio, did some karaoke even, and then we separated.
On the second leg, I got a phone call that my connecting train was going to be five hours late. This was while I was on the train already. I was a little rude to the lady I talked to. I didn’t understand the point of the phone call. I was already on the train. There was nothing to be done. I sat next to a lady in a band in Amsterdam and she shared her wine with me. In San Antonio, I went to the same sports bar with the karaoke and got drunk on 16 oz Lone Stars. If you’re traveling Amtrak, assume the worst. In my case, someone parking on the tracks in Lafayette made my trip five hours longer. Coming home, this was bad timing. I just wanted to get home.
However, I will ride the train again.
| Bobby carlson makes no bones about feelin’ free in flagstaff.
bobby@thenoise.us
thenoise.us • the NOISE arts & news
• AUGUST 2013 • 13