Thursday, July 11, 2013

I'm Walking in Memphis. Almost.

Each Danish Individually Wrapped.  For My Pleasure.

There’s some danish in the luggage cart.  Terse.  Uncaring.  Said in a New Yorkian Go-F-Yourself accent.  Reminiscent of that Simpsons episode when Homer goes to file for divorce and the lady behind the counter says, These things happen. $8.00.

Good thing the Amtrak attendant didn’t mean Danish…that could have been seen as rather un-PC (and cramped, for the Danish).  Would probably serve the Danes right, though.  They have a lot to answer for (so start answering, Darron).

But that’s one of the reasons why I’m here (the lady, not the danish/Danish).  I’m on a train to Memphis, indirectly.  I need to go to LA first, then Atlanta, THEN Memphis.  And if I didn’t get on this train, I would have never met that customer service lady on the Amtrak who made me laugh at 7:00 in the morning with her desire for me to choke on my danish (sounds dirtier than it really is).


There is clearly a train subculture that (a) I didn’t know about and (b) I have not been welcomed into...yet.  The regulars are greeted quite warmly.  Questions from the staff fly (train?) forth…about the family. The weather.  The kids. 

I was asked for my ticket and pointed to some pastry.

I could infiltrate this world, I’m sure.  But how often am I going to be on a train?  When I lived in the Czech Republic, I was on a train almost every day.  Maybe I was invited into some Czech-train-subcultures…but I probably didn’t understand, even if I were.  I probably just nodded my head, smiled, and asked them in broken Czech where the hairy bathroom apricots were located.  Dude.  It was a tough language.  And obviously like a Mad Lib game?

Anyway, I’m on a train.  Off to Memphis.  To eat BBQ and to see what happens. And Elvis.  I’m going to see Elvis, too.


Lali said...

Yay! You're going to my hometown!

Mark said...

Maybe I can still change my flight.