Tabatha Deans

I will turn this train around…

I WILL TURN THIS TRAIN AROUND

     Unbeknownst to me, today would be the beginning of a string of unusual events, nothing serious in retrospect, but just a few days of hilarious insanity. It began with the books locking me out of the room. Here I must attempt to describe, in a bit of a technical manner, the layout of the donation center. It was originally a tanning salon, built as the lifelong dream of a man whom I choose to believe was a wonderful man. He ultimately suffered a heart attack in the center and lay dead for quite some time before anyone discovered his body. Anyway, the office has a large receiving area, then a long hallway with small rooms on each side where tanning beds were located. The walls separating each room don’t reach all the way to the ceiling. With about a four foot gap over each wall, one can easily climb over and between the rooms.

     I had received about a dozen boxes of books, which I stacked mostly securely in one of the rooms. Not securely as I thought, apparently, because as I was working in the front I heard the familiar sound of boxes shifting. I figured it was a small box of decorations I had thrown to the top of the pile, and was frighteningly surprised when I heard the roar of many boxes falling, followed by the slamming of a door. I rushed back to see what was the matter, only to find the door closed and unmoving when I pushed on it. The boxes of books had toppled and spilled against the inside of the door, and no matter how hard I pushed it wouldn’t budge.

     I stood perplexed for a few minutes, angry at first, but after realizing the absurdity of being locked out of a room by inanimate objects, I couldn’t help but laugh. I got the big ladder from the storage room and peeked over the wall, and sure enough there were dozens of books scattered along the floor and against the door. I lowered myself into the room, feeling very much like a cat burglar, and cleared the doorway. I stacked the books in much shorter piles this time.

    The day continued to be busy, but I avoided any further fiasco. I headed downtown to my apartment. The train was full of an odd mix of riders for a weekday. Of course school is out for some students, so there were quite a few young people. There must have been a play or convention as well, because middle aged and older riders took up the rest of the seats. We traveled one stop down the line, and realized the doors were not closing as quickly as they usually do after picking up passengers. A courteous voice sounded over the intercom.

     “If you are standing in a doorway, please step further into the train to allow the doors to close.”

     The doors are automated, so if you hold them open or hold the button down, the doors on all the cars remain open and the train can’t move. It’s not uncommon for someone to hold the door open while the rest of their party buys tickets or runs to catch the train.

     Still the doors remained open. The next voice from above was not a polite automated voice. It was that of a live, frustrated conductor.

     “Move away from the doors so I can close them!” Still no movement. “You are holding up every person on this train! It is not their fault you weren’t prepared! Get away from the doors!”

    We all looked around for the offending party. They were not on our car, all the doors were clear. The train finally began moving, but the conductor was not to be so easily appeased.

     “You just made some of these people miss their connecting buses. Because you were inconsiderate and not prepared. They are mad at you.”

     The couple next to me started laughing, and looks of question and giggles ran rampant throughout the train.

     “Is this for real?” One young man asked, looking around the car. “Are we being punked?”

     The voice came over the intercom one last time, and I was glad I was not on the car with the door offender.

     “You should all be making them give you cab fare for holding up the train and being rude and selfish!”

     I think we were all pretty relieved to reach California Street and get off the train

June 5, 2013 Posted by Tabatha Stewart | Uncategorized | denver, epilepsy, love, rtd, sex, train | 1 Comment