Metrolink111: My Happy Places
Shelley J Alongi

 

The train trip to San Bernardino is a gentle one. I’m not upset by the death of an engineer. I’m not looking for the entrance of a tunnel. I’m not talking to railfans about their last encounters with Rob Sanchez. I’m going out to do something fun and yes today is about the engineer, but it is a much happier occasion. Today is a gentle train day. Today the train journey is all about my happy places.

Today, Friday October 30, 2009, stepping down from Glen's train Metrolink607 and making a right-hand turn to walk behind the train, I locate track 6, the track from which Metrolink will be departing today. I'm on a mission. It seems that when I go out on the train I'm always on a mission. Today the mission is to meet Libby Haze and enjoy a sandwich at her My Hero Subs restaurant on West Mill Street in San Bernardino. I always need an excuse for a train journey and today seems just as good as any day to take one. Glen my Metrolink engineer competently tells me where to find track 6; luckily it’s one track over from where he brings his train successfully to rest. Maybe he gets to rest, too. Maybe he has a busy day. I don’t’ ask him on the way down the stairs though I wish I had longer with him. I’m always wishing for more. Today I have what I have; I’ve met the first locomotive engineer who is working when I talk to him and not just sitting on the patio. Now don’t get me wrong there’s nothing wrong with sitting on the patio but somehow there’s just something magical about talking to the engineer in the cab. Maybe it’s just that Glen is magical. Maybe it’s just that I think trains are magical. Maybe, as someone tout it last week to me, I have a romance going on with the railroads and glen embodies it. I don’t’ know that I want to get that philosophical about it. For here, for now, I want to enjoy talking to a working engineer and maybe having a mad crush on him, too. There’s something magical about that, too. Crushes, says one of my co workers, are fun. They are. It doesn’t hurt that he has a brain to pick and hands-on experience, too. Hands on experiences with trains and maybe crushes, too. That’s really none of my business is it? I’ll take the smiles, the waves, the two minute conversations and the occasional hand-shake. I’ll take it all.

The reason for going out here is a good one and one that has materialized in an unexpected way. About a month ago Libby calls Disney and gets me as her phone agent. We hit it off and so here I am today going out to visit her.

I find my way to the train and take a seat. It is quiet. There aren’t many people in this car. It is a relaxing twenty minutes before we depart Los Angeles. Someone moves a full train or an engine, maybe it’s Glen. It could be someone on track 5. I don’t know for sure. I pick up my cell phone and gush to my dad “I met my engineer.”
“I like trains,” my dad says as he’s heading for San Diego in his big car hauling truck. “But not as much as you do.”

We talk for a few minutes and then I hang up my cell phone and relax.

Sitting there on track 6 waiting for a train to come in a stubborn little ache makes its way from the wrist of my right hand up to my shoulder. This is a little bit of an unusual thing unless I’ve been typing furiously. It seems that my 34 years of using querty keyboards is starting to catch up with me but is only aggravated when something with considerable force encounters my hand. My hand lies on my knee, I rub it knowing that I haven’t been typing furiously, the only thing I can imagine would start this ache would be the extraordinary hand clasp my engineer Glen has just bestowed on my manicured, red nail polished hand. I smile a little. I’ll take it. That’s why God made Advil. If Glen wants to shake my hand I’ll deal with the consequences. They’re not so bad, really. I’ve shaken hands with a man who runs that throttle I’m not turning that down for anything! Reaching into my bright yellow railroad bag, I find the water bottle I carry and my bottle of Advil. Advil is God’s gift to mankind, especially on the day when I shake hands with my first locomotive engineer. I’ll take it. I’m not giving up contact with glen just for a problem that he didn’t cause. No, as long as there are engineers who will shake my hand and Advil to dull the resultant consequence, bring them on. I don’t quite think I’ll never wash my hand again but I’m certainly not letting Glen not touch my hand. He can touch it. He has already touched so much more; my heart, my mind with his simple acknowledgment of me. Is it because he loves trains? Because he’s friendly? Whatever the reason, I’ll take it.

I must sleep because soon we’re rocking the rails and I don’t remember much. Since I’ve been up from the early hour of 3:30 AM and it is 9:00 about now I think it might be time for a nap.

I’ve always been one for going places and meeting new people I suppose and here I am again. I enjoy traveling by myself. The train and me, that’s what it’s about. A lot of railfans like to just go on trains for the sake of riding them. I like going on trains, but I have to have a mission. Since my train fascination began it has been Chatsworth and Simi Valley that has absorbed my time. I will be returning to Simi Valley to take pictures of the memorial. I will go back to Chatsworth to try and catch Gary again and then I will give Chris my tickets to Disneyland. But today Chatsworth is only a thought in my mind, the kind memory of an engineer who had to know the last five seconds of his life that he had made a mistake. One of the questions I need to ask Glen someday, possibly over coffee if he honors me with granting that request and considers discussing Chatsworth with me, is that from his perspective, can he imagine Rob Sanchez’s eyes. Can he imagine the engineer’s eyes? Glen might not be the type to imagine things. He may be all about reality or the way things are and not the way they might have been. I do not know. But as an engineer sitting in that very spot, thirty-nine years experience and all, can he imagine the engineer’s eyes?

Rob Sanchez’s eyes are not the topic of conversation today or the destination for my train-fevered lovesick attachment to America’s railroads. Or maybe it’s just the engineer. If it is then you can blame Rob Sanchez for that.

No matter, today what’s important is that I’m on my way to San Bernardino to do something that I haven’t done before. Seems like I do a lot of things that I’ve never done before. Today I’m off to the place to meet a woman I’ve only talked to by telephone. The trip is a quiet one and soon I arrive at the station. A security guard whose intelligence I severely question asks if I need help. I explain that I’m trying to get my bearings. The idea is to find out where the depot is, where the end of the platform is and where the cabstand is located. There is a gate that blocks the tracks so there’s not really a way to do too much exploring. The guard tells me that there are six tracks here. He tries to get me out to the cab stand where the driver who barely speaks English tries to get me to tell him where I’m going.

“Wait and I’ll tell you!”

I take out my cell phone and get the address, talking to Libby. There’s something about this cab driver I don’t like. I’m not always right about my assessment of people but for some reason I sure don’t like him. Libby gives me directions which the cab driver does not follow. He insists his GPS will get us where we’re going. It gets us there, then he can’t locate the building, and then charges me almost $9.00 to go three blocks.

I enter the small establishment decorated for Halloween with beads and such hanging in the door way between the place where the tables are and the back room. Libby’s cheerful greeting makes me know that today is going to be a perfect day. I’ve met my engineer and now I’m meeting a lady who I immediately liked on the phone. Both are very personable it seems, one from the get go and the other after coming out of his cab-induced shell.

It’s hard to decide what to eat today. I’ve come here for a sandwich and well I can’t just have any sandwich. I enjoy sandwiches but why would I come to San Bernardino just for, say, ham and cheese? I decide to take her recommendation, chicken buffalo ranch with roast beef. It’s a combination of Rob’s last meal and some adventure, too. I don’t think that Rob Sanchez ordered a particularly adventurous last meal (it was a roast beef sandwich) and Libby in her imagination or someone else’s come up with the idea of adding the chicken buffalo part. It is called a dirty grill. I’ve heard of the concept before but since I tend to stay away from ranch dressings I don’t try it till now. The concept is a good one and the buffalo sauce is excellent. Soft bread, warm sauce and meat, lettuce and tomato whatever is on it all compliment each other and provide quite an experience. Combine this with the mandatory diet soda, and some potato salad and you have a winner.

I eat my sandwich. I have arrived at lunch hour so Libby isn’t able to talk to me quite yet. I get on the phone with a Writers Division colleague to take care of personal business and have an hour conversation about how reading my railroad writings has inspired a resurgence of interest in that particular subject. It’s amazing I always think of other people inspiring me to interests but I never think of myself as inspiring anyone to interest. We’re all here to help each other.

The conversation between Libby and myself that day is varied, covering the story of the meeting of Glen and all the comments that have to accompany it. The funniest one is when I tell her about not understanding that Glen was telling me their train was delayed by a freight and they were late and leaving. On Thursday when I apologized for not understanding I explained that his response was a simple “Yeah.” Libby laughed. “I told you,” she said, as if to say, so you finally got it! There were lots of comments that way. I met her husband Alan and then at 3:00 I headed back to the station. Both of us disgusted at being charged so much to get from the station to the restaurant Libby said she would drive me back there in the afternoon.

The experience at the station was mixed. I was glad to be getting back. I would ultimately end up being two hours late back to Fullerton, though I wasn’t really late. The original plan was to get back by 4:37 but I stayed an hour longer in San Bernardino which was fine. I always try to schedule some flexibility because I know how train days are and heck the worst thing that could happen is that I would just have to take Glen’s train back to Fullerton and that can’t be so bad can it?

The first thing that happens when we get back to the station is that the gate opens to let passengers find their trains. The security guard, a different one this time, asks me if I can use some assistance. Sure, I say, I would like to sit behind the engine. I always like to sit behind the engine.

“That’s too far,” he says.

Well, if he doesn’t want to help then fine. So I go and sit in the first open car. I’m always afraid the conductor isn’t going to see me and I’ll miss the train. I guess technically I’m sitting behind the engine but I like to be right behind it whether it’s pushing or pulling.

The encounter with the security guard is probably the first of its type. Usually I find everyone out here too helpful and if I draw a boundary line people are respectful of that line. However I’ve never had someone just walk away like that. I suppose it’s okay I’m sometimes known for pushing people away. I’m trying to be that way less often, but if you’ve read anything I’ve written you know I’m sometimes extremely forceful about drawing boundary lines. There are probably a lot of people out there who don’t think I’m very nice, but that’s okay. I’m nice just not when people think they ca invade my personal space.

I get on the train and nap again. I guess sometimes the train for me is all about napping. I try to get up at 4:00 in the morning and when I do that I find I need a midday nap. I suppose since it’s 3:00 I’m due for one, so while the train rocks the rails and stops at all the stations, I relax. Someone tries to gather my attention by saying that I don’ see but I see more than she does. It’s a comment worth ignoring. It’s not a new comment. I get it a lot and I ignore it. Today I ignore it because I want to enjoy my Train journey home. Conversation around me fades in and out, mostly it’s about people an their sad family situations. One thing that is discussed quite frequently is the encountering of four red signals between San Bernardino and Los Angeles. People complain because by the time we get to Los Angeles we’ve missed several connections. I’m afraid I’ve missed the 5:40 train, train 606, Carrie’s train, but, no, when I get to Los Angeles I walk back behind the train, turn around and go toward the front and find someone. I have fifteen minutes and so we head over to the track where 606 will depart. I sit in the cab car which is the last car today since the locomotive pulls the train to ocean Side. The cab car is either the first or last car. Today it is the last car. I’d much rather sit behind the locomotive, for one reason, it’s a long walk from the end of the Fullerton platform back to the stairs, but, alas, I’m in the cab car and the walk isn’t so bad. At least I can walk the distance. At least this isn’t Glen’s train and I won’t miss him. I don’t’ miss him, I make it back on the 606 with about fifty minutes to spare.

The trip on the 606 is a quiet one. I can’t help but overhear a woman who is sitting right in front of me in a backward fasting seat (so she’s facing me how could I not overhear the conversation) talking to her boyfriend. Apparently he’s sick and they’re trying to decide if she’s picking up dinner or going out to dinner. Why do couples always argue about eating? Ok it’s not arguing so much, it’s just having an extended discussion about it. Here’s the standard exchange.

“Where do you want to go eat?”

“I don’t’ care.”

Oh brother, really! This conversation is more about whether they’re going out or getting take out but I’d say it’s the same thing.

When her conversation finally ends, I say something and we talk about marketing and the fact that we’ve both worked for Disney. The conversation ends as my station approaches and I get off the train and head back to the north side of the tracks.

I’ve carried my bright yellow bag all day today and it is heavy now. It holds a sandwich from Libby’s restaurant as well as everything else I didn’t touch that day.

I head over to the patio and ask if they’ll watch my bag.

“Where are you going?”

“To talk to Glen. I didn’t want to wait over there this thing is heavy.”

I’m not so sure why I don’t want to carry that bag. I usually carry it over the bridge but today I abandon it.

The patio faithful tease me. First I missed the turn to take the stairs over to the café, then I missed the entrance for the café.

“What happened! You’re distracted” someone says.

“I met the engineer,” I’m blushing and gushing. “I shook hands with Glen.”

“What did you do? What happened?”

Larry and Howard have the most fun with this.

“Oh no not this again!” Howard loves to tease me about stocking the engineer, he says that I am stocking him.

“Did you pull him out of the cab?”

“No. He came down the stairs.”

Moh is on the patio. It turns out she knows him.

“Is he married?” Larry wants to know. You would think he was the one who was looking for the girl. He always thinks I’m trying to find one to marry.

Moh informs us that yes Glen is married and has children. The other details I’ll leave out because number one I think they’re too personal for an online journal especially when I officially don’t know them, and number two I won’t repeat what I think is too personal especially when it’s divulged by someone else. He might not think it’s too personal but he didn’t share it with me so I’m not going into detail. This might be published online but I have respect for someone’s privacy. I’ve always suspected he was a man old enough to have complications. Don’t we all have complications?

It doesn’t change a thing. I have an engineer that talks to me. I can still have a crush. And I have a friend, too. We can all use a few of those.

As I head back across the bridge I pass the stairs again. Dan comes and says:

“Shelley, see what happens when you shake hands with someone?”

It’s worth a laugh and a smile; always a smile. I cherish my engineer.


I spend a pleasant evening eating my sandwich and talking to some of the railfans. Moh is there talking to someone about her breast cancer. She goes on and on about it. She yells at her husband for eating candy when he shouldn’t be eating it. It’s one of those days when you learn things about part of your family that makes them more personable, unique, or annoying. People are people wherever we are and the train station is no exception.

Kathy, Moh’s conversation partner, tells me later that it is the power of the freights that keeps her at the station. We have this in common. The engineer attaches me to the power of the machine but there always has to be a human connection for me. I’m discovering that the more I talk to the engineers the more I’m fascinated by the trains.

I leave my newfound family about 9:30 or so and head home to my cats and my room mate. The day has been a pleasant one. I am a happy girl! The train station, the engineers, the trains, these are my happy places. I’ll take them.

 

 

Copyright © 2009 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"