I had this amazing gig in the bay area about 6 years ago with a fellow named John Gruntfest. He assembled 45 musicians to play in an Elks lodge. On the way down from Portland I had a few passengers one of which was an older man who shared a lot of stories about his life, most of them filled with grief and resentment. It was the longest ride I had from Portland to San Francisco needless to say, he needed to talk and I didn't feel right telling him to zip it. When we arrived we were treated by Gruntfest to dinner at a Mexican joint and I shared a story about my train ride from Portland to Baltimore in about 2006.
I had this romantic idea about riding the rails, meeting lovely people and having rich conversations. There was a quote from from Truman on the menu: "you can tell a lot about a country and it's people by taking the train." 20 minutes out of the station the hooker and her john in the seat behind me had sex. That was the beginning of the trip. She was paying for her trip to Boston this way and the staff were in on it as far as I could tell. The story of this trip is too long for this little blog post so I'll just do a brief cap. I saw some of the most depressing and terrible behavior I've ever seen on this train ride, there was a sexual assault, the Amtrack staff was supplying booze to anyone regardless of them being already drunk or under age. I passed out to the thought 'someone is going to die on this train' to be woken up to the sound of a scream and 2 lovely young men talking about 'let's find that motherfucker and kill him.' The staff was resentful and nasty, treated the people in coach like dirt, you know, what has become typical American service. The B train or 'bitch and blame' train. There were some good points of course but by the 3rd day I was exhausted and saddened.
We had a stretch in Pennsylvania where we needed to take the bus, there had been a blizzard and the rails were no good. The snow and ice along the Ohio river may have been one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen, I was starting to let my guard down again. We stopped at a rest area with a Starbucks. I got in line to get some decent coffee and a muffin. "Welcome to Starbucks how can I help you?" said the young lady behind the counter. Her voice was kind. I know maybe she is trained to say this and this is her job but that didn't matter. I was bowled over by her kindness after the horror show that was my trip. I cried.
When I was telling this story my grumpy passenger/fellow musician says: "Uh thank you for telling us how fragile you are." I said "excuse me?" "Uh, thank you for telling us how fragile you are, I mean to cry in a Starbucks over nothing."
I replied: "Paul, it takes strength to cry in a Starbucks" and left it at that. John said "everyone needs love man."
It fascinates me when I say to someone that I used to cry when I was hurt as a child and their knee jerk reaction is "oh, so you were a sensitive child". No, I wasn't a sensitive child, I was a child. Nothing exceptional about that. I had my tears berated, belittled and beaten out of me like most other children. No, I wasn't a sensitive child, I was, free.
I'm working on being a free adult today. If I need to cry in a Starbucks or at my job, it's better than cancer or mental illness. Expressing feelings is health. Stuffing them is insanity. I like being sane.
xoj
I had this romantic idea about riding the rails, meeting lovely people and having rich conversations. There was a quote from from Truman on the menu: "you can tell a lot about a country and it's people by taking the train." 20 minutes out of the station the hooker and her john in the seat behind me had sex. That was the beginning of the trip. She was paying for her trip to Boston this way and the staff were in on it as far as I could tell. The story of this trip is too long for this little blog post so I'll just do a brief cap. I saw some of the most depressing and terrible behavior I've ever seen on this train ride, there was a sexual assault, the Amtrack staff was supplying booze to anyone regardless of them being already drunk or under age. I passed out to the thought 'someone is going to die on this train' to be woken up to the sound of a scream and 2 lovely young men talking about 'let's find that motherfucker and kill him.' The staff was resentful and nasty, treated the people in coach like dirt, you know, what has become typical American service. The B train or 'bitch and blame' train. There were some good points of course but by the 3rd day I was exhausted and saddened.
We had a stretch in Pennsylvania where we needed to take the bus, there had been a blizzard and the rails were no good. The snow and ice along the Ohio river may have been one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen, I was starting to let my guard down again. We stopped at a rest area with a Starbucks. I got in line to get some decent coffee and a muffin. "Welcome to Starbucks how can I help you?" said the young lady behind the counter. Her voice was kind. I know maybe she is trained to say this and this is her job but that didn't matter. I was bowled over by her kindness after the horror show that was my trip. I cried.
When I was telling this story my grumpy passenger/fellow musician says: "Uh thank you for telling us how fragile you are." I said "excuse me?" "Uh, thank you for telling us how fragile you are, I mean to cry in a Starbucks over nothing."
I replied: "Paul, it takes strength to cry in a Starbucks" and left it at that. John said "everyone needs love man."
It fascinates me when I say to someone that I used to cry when I was hurt as a child and their knee jerk reaction is "oh, so you were a sensitive child". No, I wasn't a sensitive child, I was a child. Nothing exceptional about that. I had my tears berated, belittled and beaten out of me like most other children. No, I wasn't a sensitive child, I was, free.
I'm working on being a free adult today. If I need to cry in a Starbucks or at my job, it's better than cancer or mental illness. Expressing feelings is health. Stuffing them is insanity. I like being sane.
xoj
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