On our first anniversary, we were broke. We had a very simple celebration. We didn’t care. On our second anniversary, we were slightly less broke. We did dinner out. We were happy. On our third anniversary, feeling rather affluent as compared to the state of our first-year finances, we decided to take a little trip. We set up babysitting with our family, and we planned a train ride to Kansas City, a couple of nights away. I was 7 months pregnant with our second. It sounded like a perfect, relaxing little get away.
The first bumpy spot in our ideal plan occurred when I called to reserve a hotel room. Our trip happened to be the same weekend as the Royal Arabian Horse Show, which is a big deal for Kansas City. Everything was booked, except for the most expensive hotel in the city. We weren’t feeling that affluent. I had already paid for the non-refundable train tickets. We were bound for a city with nowhere to stay. The very next day, though, a friend of mine called. She lived in Kansas City and would be gone for the weekend. Would we like to stay in her apartment? Would we? Oh, yes. We were set.
We got to the train station with plenty of time and walked inside to turn in our internet order code for the actual tickets. Problem. No ticket agent. No self-serve kiosk. Nothing but a bench and a few pictures on the walls. Frequent train travelers would have known, I guess, that some stations are very, er, functionally limited. As was this one. I started panicking. We called the 1-800-HELPMEAMTRAK number.
Me: Hi, listen, I’m at the Washington, MO, station, I have my internet purchase number, but there’s no kiosk, there’s no ticket agent, there’s no one here! What do I do? Where do I go? What’s wrong with this place?
Amtrak Employee: Oh, yes, let’s see, um, the Washington Station is a board-only pick-up point; you can’t redeem online purchases there.
Me: Uhhhhhhh……..okay. This is my first Amtrak experience, (and quite likely to be my last, judging from how things are going), so I really don’t know what to do here. Is there anything we can do?
Amtrak Employee: Well, let’s see. Okay. I’ll wire to the train conductor that you are pre-purchased, and he can let you on and then you can pick up the actual tickets at the other end of the line.
Me: Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.
So we made it on the train. I didn’t breathe easy until the Conductor approved us. We were good. I leaned back against my seat and settled in for a good five hour bonding time alone with my husband. As I turned my head to smile at him, I noticed the other passenger boarding. The only other passenger boarding from the same station, entering the train car that contained about five people scattered over its 15 rows of seats. And he walked straight up the aisle and sat directly across from my husband. And started talking. Incessantly.
I groaned. For those of you who know Joe, you know he’s way too friendly to just give a good cold shoulder, which is what I was fervently wishing he would do. I took a deep breath and thought, okay, fine, I can share for a few minutes. They can chat, and then he’ll chill out and Joe and I can talk. Alone. Together.
Instead, Mr. Friendly Passenger opens up his suitcase and pulls out a Pepsi, a cup, and a half gallon of rum. He offered to share. We declined. He drank enough for all three of us. He kept talking. He drank more. He talked louder. He drank more. He started cursing, colorfully, while he kept talking, even louder. Three rows up, a young Mom just a bit older than me popped her head over the seat. “I’ve got my five-year-old little girl with me, sir. Could you keep it down?” Oh, sure, he says, slightly dazed. Joe informs him for the tenth time that we are going to take a nap now, so bye bye, no more talkie-talkie. He finally decides to make his way down to the snack bar.
We have an hour or so of peace. We take a little nap, we talk. We see Mr. Friendly Drunk heading back toward his seat. This time he offers to share his liquid wealth with another passenger, who accepts, so they get all chummy a row further up from us. We can still hear the entire conversation quite well, including the increasingly rude racial slurs Mr. Friendly Drunk is throwing around. His current seat mate is African American. Things are getting tense.
Young Mom from three rows up pops her head up again, and tells him to keep it down or else. We’re not sure what “or else” means. Will she throw him from the train? The assistant conductor has been absent from our little train car for a while now. Mr. Friendly Drunk does not keep it down. Young Mom exits her seat, marches up to Mr. Friendly Drunk, and informs him that if he does not shut his mouth then he will experience dire consequences. I am thinking that she might actually attempt throwing him from the train. I am thinking that I will help her.
Mr. Friendly Drunk is turning into Mr. Not-So-Friendly Drunk, and his seat mate is getting angrier. They start threatening each other. Joe sits up straighter. I can see he is ready to interfere, if needed. I am praying. The conductor comes over the intercom to announce the next stop, and Mr. Drunk shakes his head as if waking up. “Oh, that’s me,” he says.
“Thank you, Lord, thank you, Lord, thank you, Lord,” I say.
His seat mate is getting off at the same stop. We watch them exit and try to catch a glimpse of them on the platform. Are they going to fight it out now? The seat mate walks away quickly. It looks like Mr. Drunk will live another day.
As the train picks up speed, the assistant conductor walks into our train car. “Was he getting bad?” she asks. We look at her. Someone responds, “Yeah, it was getting pretty ugly.”
“Yeah,” she says, “He rides through four or five times a week, always half-drunk or worse. He’s a pain.” I am staring at her. She has left us alone to the mercy of a frequently drunk passenger on OUR ONE AND ONLY THIRD ANNIVERSARY TRIP? Isn’t it illegal to even bring alcohol onto the train? Why do they let him get on? She moves on to the next train car, and we settle back in the silence. I guess Amtrak’s policy is every passenger for himself. Now I know, and next time I’ll bring Mace.