Train people are good people. The kind of people you don’t forget meeting. Sure, you can meet some interesting folk while flying, but they don’t leave lasting impressions. Flyers are in a hurry, can’t be delayed, and won’t accept failure. They planned ahead, made their reservations, and people waiting for them when they get off the plane. But train people are pioneers. They are out seeing the open countryside, braving the elements, and flying by the seat of their pants to whatever destination the conductor might take them.
I could fly, but I would have missed out on meeting people like my friend Juan. At first glance, one might be put off by the absence of his two front teeth, and the odor that follows him around like the warm summer breeze downwind of a compost heap. But once you get past these superficial bonuses, you find out what a good soul he is. Did you know he gave his CD player away to some girl on the train? Why did he do this? Because she asked if she could have it. It’s that kind of selfless behavior that might earn him the harsh label of “idiot” from some cold-hearted individuals. He was also kind enough to give me a lot of time to myself, getting up and walking around the train while I was deep in thought. A cynic might say that he was walking around because of the old gunshot wound in his lower back, where the bullet was still lodged, and that it acts up when he’s been sitting for too long. But those critics don’t know Juan like I do. He brandishes his other gunshot wound, on his right forearm, with pride. He even worked the scar into a surrealistic tattoo, the work of an unrecognized artist.
He opened himself up and showed me one of the great loves of his life, captured through his wedding photos. He described his nuptials in loving detail. How he was so happy that he got to wear a bathing suit, t-shirt, and no shoes to his wedding on the beach. He drove the point home by reiterating how wonderful it is not to wear shoes to one’s own wedding: the freedom of a brave pioneer. Detractors would point out that he got divorced six months later. But I say that that moment will last forever in those four, aged, three-by-five photographs.
What do train people need? They need the simple things in life. A dining car that is always open, filled with rejected convenience store hotdogs and stale chips. A bathroom at both ends of each passenger car. Nothing is too good for these people. Every other stop is designated a smoking stop. We can’t have train people going an hour without their nicotine fix. That would be inhumane. Nothing is too good for train people. Why? Because train people are good people.