Train Conductor

I am waiting in Union Station for a westbound train. It is December 13. Christmas is near and I can feel it in the fibre of this building. It was not until now that I internalized the experience of Union Station. I never realized how immense it is, or the meticulous architecture. It reminds me that one can spend a lifetime in a place without ever truly knowing it. I find myself in this vast waiting room. The ceiling is dome like, providing light to shine down on the waiters. I am one of the few in this space. A man stares menacingly from across the room. This is less of a room and more of an auditorium. The floor is white marble that has been stained, presumably from the waiter’s feet. I would imagine that this auditorium is full during the holiday season. I look to my left and see a plaque hanging from gold chains attached to the ceiling. It reads, “Founders Room.” I have never been in the founder’s room, but my guess is that it is exclusive to founder’s. What is so special about the founder’s room that it deserves its own walls and plaque attached to gold? A giant Christmas tree is placed in the center of this auditorium. The proportions of this space are quite grandiose. The design is passively bourgeoise. I am about to transition from waiter to passenger, as I have that westbound train to catch.

I prefer sitting in the front of the train as opposed to the caboose because although it takes longer to walk up here, I feel a sense of freedom being close to the driver. In my experience, you can tell a great deal about someone based on their location within a train. For example, suppose a person decides to sit in the last car on the train. My guess is that this person is not much into exercise, or any movement for that matter, as they have chosen the closest car. Furthermore, this person probably values convenience over quality. This is not to say that sitting in the back of the train is of less quality than the front, however, it is my belief that the quality of persons differentiates throughout each car.

I have yet to depart from Union Station. It occurred to me as soon as I sat down, that I might have seen an old friend. With masks on, it is hard to decipher one blonde haired girl to another, or any person really. So, I just kept on walking. Maybe one day I will find enjoyment in small conversations and talk of high school but today is not the day.

To be a train conductor, is to have a deep and commanding voice. I have yet to meet a train conductor with a high voice. They all seem to walk into the car as if they own the place, only ever saying, “Tickets, tickets please.” They love to hold that S in tickets. They are almost singers. I am under the notion that a job is a job. I think any time you are being paid, there is little room to complain. But my notions of train conductors only go so far. I cannot imagine that they are very well liked among the passenger community. To the passenger of a train, “tickets, tickets please,” might as well be, “you’ve been played, you’ve been played,” with emphasis on the D.

The setting has changed. I now pass-through Chicago’s West Side at fast intervals. We come to these abrupt stops, then go 100 miles per hour, then stop, and so on. This has nothing to do with the conductor, however, when he sees the nauseated college student with a hand covering his mouth, do not blame human nature. I am three cars from the front of the train, trying to conjure up the antonym for caboose. It is a middle-aged woman and me. She strikes me as sensible, quiet and audacious at the same time. I am not judgmental, I am analytical.