The Quiet Car

With all of the kind and wonderful people there are in this world, I have to wonder why I keep running into all of the a**holes.

On March 9^th, I took a cramped Greyhound bus from Boston to New York to meet up with my mother-in-law (...herein referred to as Dalva) who was flying in from Brazil to stay with us for a while and help care for our daughter.

Not a problem. Happy to do it.

Plus, since she was scheduled to arrive so early that next morning (6:45am), I figured I’d get to NYC the night before, roam around a bit, maybe bang out a dinner at the Red Lobster and check into a hotel for the night.

So, I picked her up, we traipsed around NYC for a few hours, then headed over to Penn Station for our 3:00pm ride home. Dalva had just endured a ten hour flight, so I decided to treat her to a nice, comfortable ride to South Station on one of Amtrak’s smooth and comfy Acela Express trains. I even paid a little extra for Business Class so that we’d get the slightly bigger and roomier seats to stretch out on and enjoy the view going home. But this is me, so I should have known that something was gonna turn the evening sour... and it started right from the first boarding call.

First off, for a train that leaves at exactly 3:00pm, does it make sense to start boarding at 2:55? Or for that matter, does it make sense to have only one ass-clown manning one small turnstile devoted to examining, scanning and ripping the tickets of about 1,000 sweaty travelers, huddled together like penguins in the Antarctic? Needless to say, seats filled up fast, so when Dalva and I got to the Business Class, there was only one car remaining that had empty seats. All of the window seats had been taken, so Dalva grabbed an aisle seat and I grabbed the aisle seat directly behind hers.

After I’d settled in and thrown my crap in the storage bin above me, I saw several small, blue signs on the train car ceiling that read:

“Quiet Car - Please refrain from loud talking or using cell phones in this car.”

My first thought was, “Uhh… okay. Cool I guess.” Frankly, I didn't know what to think. I'd never even heard of a train company devoting an entire train car to total silence, but whatever. The train had pulled out of Penn Station at precisely 3:00pm and, right off the bat, my ass knew that this was gonna feel like a silky smooth ride. Sadly, my brain would wind up begging to differ.

The spectacled woman seated at the window to my left had already settled in and opened her laptop to watch an episode of “24” with headphones when I heard an announcement throughout the cabin, explaining the rules of the Quiet Car. In addition to the ban on loud chatter and cell phone usage, we were also warned that if we planned on using electronic equipment of any kind, it must be audible only to the user.

Now, generally speaking, I’m not much of a whining, nagging b*tch (…provided I’m on US soil), so when the not-so-quiet rantings of Keifer Sutherland resonated through the headphones of the laptop-toting neighbor to my left, I said nothing. About ten minutes into it, she shut everything down, closed the window curtain and fell asleep. I thought, “Thanks for consulting me on that move, Miss Think-For-Yourselfer!” My hopes for enjoying the view out of our window were dashed in an instant.

Again, I chose to say nothing and, instead, whipped out my Creative Zen media player (...glorified iPod knock off), keeping the volume low even though I had a pretty decent set of headphones. Then, Window B*tch fell asleep and started snoring. Not incredibly loudly, mind you, but loud enough that her honkings managed to penetrate my Death Cab and Nickelback solo concert, held in the comfort of my own ears.

Here again though, I said nothing.

What I found to be humorous was that about five minutes after Window B*tch started snoring, the guy with the window seat directly behind her began snoring even louder! This woke up WB with a start and by his next snort, she gave this disgusted, exasperated sigh as if she hadn’t just been snoring like a bear herself. Admittedly, the man behind us was ridiculously loud – so loud, in fact, that I’m surprised that his snores didn’t wake himself up.

What did wake him up (...and scare the bejeepers out of me) was another train coming the other way. Both trains were going so fast that when they crossed paths, you could feel the vacuum that the two trains created. So strong was this vacuum that you could actually feel a thump as it pulled us slightly inward.

The result?

Gasps and shrieks were heard throughout the Quiet Car, Snoring Bull woke up and WB pulled back our curtain to see what had caused our little disturbance. I was all psyched because the sun had slowly started settling to the point where the clouds and the sky were turning awesome shades of red and lavender. Then, almost as quickly as she opened the curtain, WB closed it again, fell asleep again… and started f**king snoring again!

“Oh yeah, cuz this is much better! Thanks a lot, Daffy! I much prefer staring at a twill-woven curtain than sweeping Thomas Kinkade vistas while you honk me yet another nostril melody!”

Yet, I said nothing. Not a word. And why? Because I’m not a b*tch and I don’t suck, that’s why! I mean, who the f**k is that tired in the early evening hours that they can’t wait a few more hours before going to sleep in a bed?

So anyway, our “Express” train made a few stops en route to South Station in Boston. Kinda defeats the purpose of catching an Express train, but whatever, right? Nobody around me seemed to want to get off at the first two stops, but on the third, Larry the Snoring Ass-Clown disembarked. Since nobody had been sitting next to him (...can't imagine why), I decided to let Dalva know that I was moving one seat back. This way, she wouldn’t look back, see an empty seat and freak out, thinking that our stop had already come and I’d gotten off. So, Dalva took this opportunity to move into the seat next to me, which of course was fine with me. After all, she is family, right?

With about fifteen minutes left before arriving at South Station, I get hit with the coup de grâce. I’d quite literally had my mouth shut for over three hours in the Quiet Car and had my cell phone turned off (...much to the dismay of my wife who, unbeknownst to me, had tried calling me about twenty times to no avail). Now, while I respected the rules of the Quiet Car, I wasn’t about to ignore my mother-in-law’s questions about where we were supposed to go once we arrived at South Station.

As Dalva started with her third question, Window B*tch turns around, looks at me and, with a smile of condescension, says, “Um, this is a Quiet Car.” With my mouth slightly agape, I said, “Okayyyy” in the same tone that people use when they really want to say, “And your point is?” She honed her inner Bill Lumbergh and said, “Yeah, there’s not supposed to be any loud talking in here.” Then just as she turned back around in her seat, she added “Sorry.”

With the many things I wanted to say to her in response, I replied simply with, “Yeah, doubtful.” I got no response. Had I been travelling alone, I would have most certainly said something more caustic, but not wanting to cause a scene in front of my wife's mother and be forever branded as a rude American, I chose a more civil response.

As a final “F**k you,” she opened her curtain with about four minutes left before arriving at South Station. "Yeah, thanks. You’re all heart." What pissed me off more than anything was that, during this three and a half hour ride, virtually everybody in the Quiet Car had been noisier than me; especially Window B*tch. Sure, she says nothing when the guy behind us practices his Sleeping Beauty mating call, but when I have the audacity to respond to my mother-in-law, I catch hell for it. Sorry to have interfered with your twilight snooze.

Here’s a small list of the things that I would have loved to say to her, if not for little Mr. Id in my brain, responsible for holding back my profanities in public settings:

1.) “Well, if it’s a Quiet Car, why don’t you lead the charge by shutting the f**k up?”

2.) “I’ll be sure to turn myself in to the authorities as soon as we disembark.”

3.) “So, what you’re saying is that idle chit-chat’s a no-no, but snoring like a Polar Bear is perfectly acceptable?”

4.) “Go f**k yourself.”

There were others on my mind, of course, but you get the idea. Frankly, I think the whole Quiet Car concept is kinda stupid. I can understand refraining from engaging in shouting matches, either with another person or over the phone, but to completely prohibit cell calls of any kind or quiet chit-chat with the person next to you is just ludicrous.

I mean, those tickets didn’t come cheap. I dropped almost $250.00 for the pair, I got no in-flight meal or movie, I got the entire cast of Snorers Anonymous sitting all around me with no window view and I can’t f**king talk? What's up with that?

And that was only the Business Class. I shudder to think of what I would have had to deal with in First Class. Probably no cognitive thoughts, breathing or bowel movements whatsoever. The best part of this whole trip was that Dalva (...who can't speak a lick of English to save her life and is accustomed to horrific modes of public transportation) had nothing but wonderful things to say about our ride in the Quiet Car.

Maybe ignorance really is bliss.