Amtrakification (part 2)

Bundled off to the "premium" waiting area to wait out the flood in the proletariat bleachers, Bryce and I settled in to wait for The Train That Might Stop. I checked a few times with the customer service desk, both times getting varying degrees of, "Sure, it'll stop here. I mean, it has passengers right? It's not like the conductor can just kill those folks and dump the bodies! Har har!"

Then the announcement came - our train's arrival was imminent! We should stand by for boarding instructions. A few minutes passed. We basked in the warm glow - we were going to make it, only 4 hours late. We picked up our bags and stood in the waiting area. Then the announcement came - final boarding call on platform snorflegarb! How long had it been? Was there a non-final boarding call? What platform was the train on? It didn't show up on the monitors. We rushed out.

I looked at Bryce. Bryce look at me. "What platform did she say?" I said, eyes wide. "Fifteen!", he replied. "Are you sure?!" "Yeah! I think..." It had fallen out of my mind completely. Rushing frantically to the station common area, we looked for our platform. The stairs to platform 15 were a quarter-mile away and protected by barbed wire and angry badgers. Cutting our way through the wire, booting aside the badgers, we galumphed down the stairs with our (my) enormous suitcases (actually just mine; Bryce had packed sensibly) in tow.

The platform was empty. Oh no.

We galumphed back up the stairs, straining our collective back and blood pressure. We bolted back to the central room. Magically, the room had transformed into an older, more primitive place. All the landmarks were different, and the signs indicated that we were far from Amtrak Central. Damn those deceptive badgers, we had made a wrong turn! With sinking hopes, we dashed back to the great room. Feebly, we tried two more platforms. One was a train being refilled with $5 bottled water by a crew that didn't speak English, but knew enough to inform us that this train was "finish". The other was platform 12, across from which we watched our train, on platform 13, leaving without us.

We held our heads and cried. Well, ok, only I cried, but mostly from all that exercise I wasn't used to getting. Bryce held his head; we slouched back to the premium waiting area. I went back through the Amtrak line to exchange our tickets for the 3 AM train, moments before they closed the ticket counter for the evening. Even the hardened Amtrak crew felt my pain and gave me many helpful tips for not missing the next train. ("Be in the great room when they announce your train! You'd better not be here when I get in for the morning shift!")

For the next few hours, I played online poker and fretted while Bryce slept. Was my enormous suitcase too big for the train? The signs regarding carry-on baggage placed around the station were severe and non-compromising. I began to picture a scenario of being permitted on the train, but denied my only luggage. It was possible, likely, in fact - at least, the scenario matched the rest of our evening. I started to plot an escape, even going so far as to buy two online tickets on a 7 AM Chinatown bus. Several hours later, it occurred to me to ask customer service; they said that the 3 AM train was rarely if ever full, and that big bags would not be a problem.

And then, a miracle happened.



The 3 AM train was on time! This time, we took no chances. We scouted out all alternate paths to every available station platform, identifying both escalators and back-up stairs. Bryce spotted a group of old people to push in front of, and I bribed the hookers and junkies to distract the cleaning crew to give us a few more precious minutes to board. We loaded up on provisions at the Penn Station Corner Store. And then, it happened - the train arrived.

Down we raced to the platform! Bam, onto a nearly empty car. Slip, went our baggages into the oversized carry-on bins. Crash, went both Bryce and I, onto the not-quite-bed-length Amtrak seats, where we spent the next 4.5 hours, almost-but-not-quite-sleeping. Clackety-clack, and we were on our way to Boston. 12 hours late, at the speed of a bus for 4 times the price and 1/4 the reliability. But, damnit - we rode the wide-open rails! Surely that counts for something...