After a couple of hours on the computer I wandered off the train and strolled around the platform, briefly going inside the station to snag a couple of cans of Diet Pepsi.
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Hung outside in the cool night air as the Amtrak ground crew made preparations for uncoupling our cars from the Texas Eagle sections and re-coupling to the Sunset Limited. Problem is, there was not Sunset Limited train in the yard. It too apparently was late, but considerably so.
A crewman indicated they were ready to start uncoupling the cars so I had to make a decision on whether to remain on the platform or get back on board. I opted for the latter, which turned out to be a mistake.
In the process of switching out cars the electricity is turned off. So what air flow we had, ceased. Not wanting to stew around in my sleeper without air I went downstairs and stood by the door watching things progress.
Another thing that does not function when the electricity is off is the flushing mechanism of the toilets. The ceiling in the hallway of the lower level is low and jutting down from it was a lit sign which proclaims in red capitol letters, “TOILETS CLOSED.” But that did not sway some of the privileged fossils riding in this sleeper car from dropping their loads. One of these cry babies lamented on one of the stalls being clogged up. One that he had happened to just contribute to. I explained what was going on to these morons while they milled about, complaining about that or the lack of air.
Some semi-GILFy southern belle who probably spent a lifetime of using wealth and beauty to get through her existence with little duress or lack of want inquired “Are we in El Pasooo?” “Nnnnooo,” I replied as I continued to gaze outside. “We were late to San Antonio. Are we still in San Antonioooo?” “Yea-sss. We sit here for a while as they switch cars.”
I heard that some passengers over in the coaches were similarly confused, with some woman going on about this being a layover when she was told there were no layovers on this trip. C'mon, you're still on the train and you still have your seat. Shut the hell up and go back to sleep.
So the cars get reconnected, everyone goes back to their cubby holes, and I try to eke out a couple more hours of sleep.
At 6:30am, I head up to the diner to see if breakfast was being served. In the lounge car I came upon an older black gentleman whose face was framed with a scraggly white beard, standing up by the doorway to the diner. Passing by, I inquired “Any word on breakfast?” His retort, “Shit on breakfast!” I wondered whether that was his opinion on the meal, or a suggestion of what I should do when I get in there. I reasoned it would be better to consume said breakfast first, and decide what to do afterwards.
The diner crew was not exactly cognitive yet so I went back to the lounge car to wait for first call. I struck up a conversation with a charming woman whom I opined to be an emergency worker by trade or at least intimately connected. She regaled me with the hard luck story of two playas, bedecked in bling, whom were abroad a train in Buffalo when the Border Patrol and DEA did a spot-check.
It was her opinion and that of several other passengers that some thing was not kosher about them. As mentioned before they were exceptionally encrusted in jewelry, and in addition acted very nervously and sported enormous luggage which they clinged to throughout their trip.
Well the Border Patrol came upon their car and first they detected a hint of an unusual aroma. Then they spotted the dudes with their body-accommodating suitcases and asked one of the men to open his luggage. “No” was the reply. Then they were ordered to open their luggage. So the young man relented and upon opening the bag a wave of meth-y, chemically funk spread out to assault the nostrils of their fellow coach passengers. And so they were handcuffed and were being led away when one of the agents called out, “Son, this here's your baggage. I'm not taking it out.”
Getting busted on a train transporting a couple hundred pounds of meth: 10 to 25 years in prison. Having to haul said meth out of a train while handcuffed: priceless.
So we went in and sat down for breakfast, with the aforementioned Mr. Cream-of-Shit seated across the table for us. We ordered and ate, continuing our conversion while our gentleman associate mainly kept to himself, mumbling most of the time. He ordered a lid for his breakfast and took it back to whence I came upon him earlier. Later on we found out that he had been holding court in the lounge car all day long, engaging people in conversation about his connections to various celebrities and his world opinion in general and when not latched on to anyone in particular he pretty much held forth to himself. We both agreed that our mutual nut-case radars had served us well during breakfast.
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