Conversations With Glenn: The Bravest Engineer Of Them All
Shelley J Alongi

 

Happy sixtieth birthday, number 1 engineer. Three years of intermittent phone calls, and this one just might be the more relaxed, at least on my part. The stress is so intense thisweekend that I have to do something fun. That is, if I can get him. I got him. And it was fun. Relaxed, despite one flaw, or maybe two if you count the buetooth. It was good, definitely, as always, worth the wait. And, this time, we didn�t even talk about trains.

I always know it�s going to be a good railroad week when I pick up my phone on a Sunday and catch Glenn when he can talk to me. The last two days have been extremely stressful in the job department. This too shall pass, I think, and I hope it does, soon. As a reward for enduring the latest drama in my work life, I decide I�ll give him a call on Sunday. After all, I do have a reason for calling him. His birthday is on Monday, August 27, and I start a new schedule and work Mondays now till the end of the year. So, instead of texting, I�ll at least call and leave a message. But, I analyze, he�ll probably be working on Sunday, or he�ll be doing something and won�t be able to talk to me. It will be fine, because I can just leave a message and say happy birthday and anything else I can think of without having to text it. Guess I�m getting comfortable and just don�t� know it. That�s kind of a relief, really. The first two years have been so full of anxiety at least when I start the phone call. When the call begins, I�m fine. But the drama of starting it is so intense that it alone leaves me exhausted, and exhiliarated. No other interest has done this to me. He sure is patient; he hasn�t told me to go away, and I�ve tried to be less intrusive. I think if it really botherd him he�d let me know. So far, so good. I definitely got the right one.

Sunday August 26 dawns a little cooler than previous days. I report to Subway, then work, and put my name on the early release list. Sometimes Sundays are quiet and we�re now entering our quiet season. I�m looking forward to additional days off and might as well get an early start.

About 1:00 or is it noon, I get my signal that I can go early. Yes, I�ll take that, thank you very much. I adjourn to the Starbuks on the corner, the one which recently saw the riots, and stand and talk to the guys that usually hang out there. I enjoy Sundays wherever I am. So far, they�re relaxed and gentle. I don�t mind working on Sundays but it�s always nice to get a break.

After the usual banter and comments about people passing by, comments on the weather, I decide it�s time to make the call. Usually when I call, I�m inside my place, at the best possible location so that I catch every word. But today, I�m here and this seems to be the perfect time to do it. I sit down on a chair facing the replaced window, and scroll through the contact list for the number. The phone rings.

In looking back at the first call I made to this man and the one today, I have to note the differences. Maybe I�m just hoping to leave a voicemail. My heart isn�t pounding in my throat. I�m not to thepointof hyperventilating. Maybe it�s because there are people around. Maybe it�s because I�m just used to this now. It�s still the most delicate of pleasures, but right now I�m in control, and I like that. Maybe the anxiety makes it fun, but I�ll take this relaxed mood now. I am comfortable and it is nice to be that way.

�Hello,� comes the voice on the phone. In the background, Vince, one of the regulars, says goodbye to me. I�m wrapped up in my own world, so I don�t remember if I nod or not. I�m focusing on another world, another person. I cant� figure out how he sounds. Awake, definitely.

�Eh.�

Ok, so what kind of way is that to start a conversation? A comfortable one, I guess. I can breathe now without feeling like I�m suffocating.

�What�s up!�

It�s familiar Glenn. It�s what I�m used to.

�Hey. What are you doing awake?�

Ok, now I am comfortable. I�m not fainting.

�I�m way behind!� he inflects with his usual expressiveness. I think I caught him at a good time. I find out later, maybe it was a good time, and maybe it wasn�t. he didn�t tell me he had to call me back, so here we are.

�That sounds like most of us,� I say. God knows I�m way behind. I can imagine he�s way behind most of the time. When you have a life as conmplex as this one you might be behind a great deal of the time.

�I just called to wish you a happy birthday. I work Monday for the first time in a year so I thought I�d do it now.�

I�m not telling him I need relief from my weekend.

He�s working tomorrow, he says, celebrating by working.

That sounds like him, always working. I think I do admire him for that, no matter his motivation. We�re all driven by something, aren�t we? Might as wel work as not.

His birthday, this year, is the big 6 0.

�I�m not thrilled about it,� he says. He�s definitely awake.

�Oh, come on,� I say now. �You�ve worked hard to get there. You made it.�

I guess not everyone feels the same way I do about age.

�Well, my retirement is at most two years away,� he informs me. �I might retire Tuesday depending on what they offer me.�

The sun shines, it�s a muggy day, the usual Starbucks music plays in the background, and somehow, the people disappear. I don�t think they really disappear; I think I just make them go away in my own head. I have some great conversation wwith them, but for now, those are in the future. Right here, right now, this is my present.

�Then what are you going to do? Change your number and not give me your new one?�

I think, today, I�m the one who�s doing the teasing. I don�t know if it�s a good thing or not. I don�t think he�s going to change his number, especially after the next comment.

�I�ll have more time for all my errands.�

�Will you give me a twenty hour interview in five hour increments?�

�Absolutely!�

Wow, I think I�ve made it. That all remains to be seen, and he�s given me so much already. The rest is icing on the cake. It�s like the beginning, living on the kiss of information, it�s my dream come true, all I have to do is wait. And, we�ll see, of course. But for here and for now, this is good! This is my happy place.

�so, what�s this about you leaving disney?� he now says, shifting our conversation.

This is just proof to me that he does read my text messages. He doesn�t always answer, but he does read them. He�s already proven it today in the conversation. He tells me about his retirement prospects and now he touches the nerve that makes me call him for relief in the first place.

�Did I tell you?� I am hugely and wonderfully relieved.

How could I have forgotten? Just looking through the messages shows me that I�ve told him I�m thinking of leaving. I tell him the latest thing, and I tel lhim about how they�re monitoring numbers more closely these days. I�ve been suspended for a lunch penalty, apparently I got a third one within twelve months, so I get Saturday off. I tell him I�ve made plans to go, I just need to get all my ducks in a row. I tell him I�m looking into employment with federal food service options. Then I want to buy my railroad caf�, I tell him.

�That�s the plan on paper. But things don�t always come out as planned do they?�

�Sometimes they don�t,� he says wisely. I wonder how many of his plans have failed and how many haven�t? I think we all have our share of those experiences.

I can�t believe he�s asked me about this. maybe this is the best part of the conversation. I text him later and say I was impressed that he asked me about that because when the latest incident happened he was the first person I wanted to call. I wanted to call him first because based on past experience, I know he would tell me to just deal with it. If that sounds hard and unyielding, believe me, it�s sound advice. I can take it from him. He�s not perfect, noen of us are, but he just earned another star on his overflowing chart.

Now, I�m really glad I called him. He asked me about the biggest stress point in my life and it was just a huge relief to share it.

�But, I�m not leaving yet,� I tell him. I�m just glad he asked. I�m sure he wasn�t thinking that way. But it sure worked out. Somehow after telling him that things sure look a lot better.

The subject shifts to Disneyland. During the conversation something is said about not being able to afford it. That is a common theme throughout many conversations, not just this one.

�Well, you have a race car for a baby. It�s either that or Disneyland.�

I know how much people spend on Disneyland. I�ve booked their reservations. I don�t know how much people spend on race cars but it�s got to be a lot to warrant so many extra work hours in order to pay back loans. Yeah, I know about loans, too, and I don�t even sponsor a race car. It�s just the way things are. Everybody has something that drives them. I know that, too. You�ll find no judgments from me. I know what I like to spend my money on. Like I said, we all have something. Some people just like to spend it on Disneyland.

I remember him saying out of the cab window that Disneyland should be something everyone can afford. I agree.

The conversation today is a rambling affair. It�s not as long as some, but not as short as others. Somehow, in mentioning buying a railroad caf�, I say that maybe I�ll buy the fullerton one, or move to Elco, is it? He says he spent the weekend with a frend out there and did something, though I don�t remember now what it was. I know he liked the place. I�ll have to ask him what it was he did there. It wasn�t digging for gold. Elcoe does have gold mines. I know he said he liked whatever it was. It was a neat place. If you don�t need a million people around all the time, it was a nice place, he said.

I�m sitting here, just reveling. Yeah, I like him. There�s just something nice about friendly people. He�s kind of an open guy, I�ve seen him get a little nippy, and it�s fine, really.

�I don�t� need a million people around,� I say. �I�m actually kind of shy�

�Yeah?�

There is a question in his voice. Why do I get the feelin he doesn�t believe me? I don�t think he believes me. No one else does. Maybe he does.

�Until I get used to something,� I explain. I don�t tell him the agony I go through when I call him. Maybe that�s not shy. I do have to bide my time, though, in some cases. I think I have to do a lot of planning in my head before I approach someone or something. I don�t tell him that; he only sees the approach part. But now he knows. And so do you.

The conversation turns to cats. Don�t ask me how we got there. I�m not sure. He has ten dogs and she has nineteen cats.

�Do they live outside?�

�No,� he says with feeling.

�They live in the house?�

�That�s why I don�t.�

�How big is the house?�

�Twelve hundred square foot,� he says.

�That� snot a very big house.�

I know a woman who had five cats in an apartment. Where would nineteen cats find space in twelve hundred square feet of living space? You know how much Front Line that is? Wow that�s a lot of money. That man probably keeps the pet industry afloat during bad economic times! Nineteen cats! I don�t tsay anything. What can I say? How do I top that?

Then, I find out what�s wrong. Somehow, his wife and daughter take the truck and lose the keys. This is why he�s behind. He�s not very happy abou it. I don�t blame him. Where�s the second set? I don�t ask him that. I don�t� have one.

�Tell me about your daughter. I�ve always been curious about her.�

He grows quiet.

�Tell me,� I encourage.

�She�s blond,� he says. His next comment isn�t very flattering. It�s not profane it�s just unflattering. I can understand in the heat of the moment. It�s really fine. I won�t repeat it for privacy�s sake. I�m still curious about her, though. I�m sure the subject wil come up again. I know her name. That�s a start.

I still wonder if he found his keys.

�Well,� I say now, as there is a lull in the conversation. �I�d love to talk to you for hours. But you probably want to find your keys.�

�Well, I have to break into the truck, somehow,� he says. �But, we�ll talk again, later.�

He always says this, it�s always quiet and reassuring. I think there is only one or two instances where he hasn�t said it. We don�t talk often. Perhaps every three months now. But it�s always worth the wait.

He knows I�m shy. I know how many cats they have. No, I didn�t get all the names.

We hang up. I am satiated. But I still wonder if he found hiskeys. I know he didn�t retire on Tuesday.

�Did you retire today?� I asked him by text at 6:20 in the morning, again sitting at Starbucks. I hardly expected a response. My phone chimed.

�No, not today, dear.�

I blushed. I laughed. All my anxiety paid off. It reminded me of another railroader I knew. I asked him if he knew Glenn. �I don�t know your friend dear,� he said. All these old guys calling me dear. They�re brave. And, he�s the bravest engineer of them all.

Happy sixtieth birthday, number 1 engineer. Three years of intermittent phone calls, and this one just might be the more relaxed, at least on my part. The stress is so intense thisweekend that I have to do something fun. That is, if I can get him. I got him. And it was fun. Relaxed, despite one flaw, or maybe two if you count the buetooth. It was good, definitely, as always, worth the wait. And, this time, we didn�t even talk about trains.


 

 

Copyright © 2012 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"