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‘I Appreciate You’
Emmeryville to Chicongo by Train: April 28-29, 2023
© 2023 James LaFond
Priorities on Amtrak are:
In Coach:
Whether there is assigned seating, and eventually seats will be assigned and fixed in order to be able to give a seat slip to a passenger boarding down the line, a single person sitting alone, will be bumped to sit with another single person, so a couple can sit together. Traditionally, couples are vacationing, retired, middle class Boomers. Covid chased off most of these. Couples now tend to be parent and child 30%, Boomer Ken & Karen, 40%, Homos & Lesbos. Indeed, most couples under 40 are homos and lesbos. Thrice in two years I have been bumped to make way for spooning homos.
One passenger type that used to be rare, with one to a car [each car holding 70 to 100 [that last 30 on the lower level of handicapped coaches] but has doubled since Covid, to 3 per car, is the lone Grandma visiting her scattered brood or returning.
An Amish man helped Granny Karen on with her luggage, just ahead of Little Asia.
As the train chugged towards Sacramento the intercom came on:
“Hello, Amtrak Passengers, welcome aboard The California Zephyr. This is Curtis, your Cafe Attendant based in the bottom level of the sight seeing car just ahead of the coaches and behind the dining car. That’s right, this is Curtis! The Man! The Myth! The Legend! at your service with snacks, drinks, burgers, salads—Hebrew certified Hebrew national hot dogs, coffee, Coke, Coke, Coke products, and yes folks, no Pepsi. If you want Pepsi on Amtrak, I have Coke for you. You wan’t diet Pepsi, I have Diet Coke and Coke Zero. You want Sierra Mist, well look out the window as we head up into the Sierras, not at me, ‘cause I’m serving up Sprite!
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we also have adult beverages, including, beer, that’s right—ice cold beer! Now, some points of travel. Ladies and Gentlemen, you must wear shoes when moving about the train. Those coupling plates between cars will take those toes clean off! As well, although I might be a personal fan, like I was of the nude passenger in our outward journey from Chicago, who nearly put out my eyes with her copious charms, Amtrak is a family experience and we ask you to move about the train, fully clothed.”
“Speaking of family, if you haven’t managed to leave those little darlings with Grandma and Grandpa, sweet as they may be—they ain’t mine, but yours! That’s right, family passengers, any child under twelve must be accompanied by a parent or guardian at all times. That means wherever they do go, even to the bathrooms below, you go with them! Oh yes, no sending them to get your beer! That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, this is Curtis, with your ice cold beer!”
I waited for Curtis to get his rush over before I got my coffee. I tipped him and he said, “I appreciate you.”
Throughout the 3 days and 2 nights Curtis would entertain us with news such, “Ya’ll, I know you might be hungry, but I’ hungray! Besides, I need my mental health break—its not easy being a myth and a legend. Heck being a man in this world is rough enough! So, come on down and get your snacks and drinks before I close up for lunch.”
A half hour later:
“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Curtis H. Tired, announcing that I am about to start my lunch break, and that I’m taking a full hour because of Dan and Ellen. That’s right, for every minute Dan and Ellen kept me with their revised orders and big bills from my lunch plate, I’m adding 5 minutes to my mental health break. Y’all can thank Dan and Ellen, walkin’ past you right now—now this is a family train so please, don’t throw them off! Oh, oh yes, if anybody else shows up with a fifty dollar bill to buy a muffin, I might suddenly be sold out of muffins, right Ellen?”
Curtis really lightened up the fact that his prices had increase to nearly $10 for every item. Coffee had gone up from $2.50 to $2.75. But beer went from $5 to $7.50, shots from $7.50 to $10.50. Food moved north like alcohol.
The big man who ran the dinning car, whose name I forget, weighed a good 400 pounds and even gave out doughnuts as he joked about us being lucky he didn’t eat them all. Dining car service is free for sleeper passengers. For coach, breakfast is a reasonable, and quality $20, dinner $45. There was the gregarious black attendant [the diner manger] his nice ghostly waitress, and hard working Latino cook. The crew liked each other and were good to we passengers.
The two Amish couples, young folks, one with a pregnant wife and one with an infant, somehow lost their money on the way back from Mexico. Passengers and crew pulled together donations to feed them, the coach attendant fixing them a family meal.
The usual crew of outcasts, coughing people and snoring men camped out by night in the viewing car. I went down to Curtis and held forth my $50, having given him the last of my $1s for coffee and grinned, “How about three beers, can you make that work?”
“I gotchyou brotherman!” said Curtis as he dished out a $10, 2 $5s and some $1s and I tipped him $3.
I fell asleep after my third beer and slept in the lounge car that second night, as something icky now occupied the seat next to me.
Three faɡɡots, a golden skinned homo, a viking tranny and a little homo, got onto the train together at Denver and were involved in a dispute with Boomer Joe and his neglected wife. Big fat Boomer Joe wanted comfort, not companionship, and spent his entire trip trying to arrange with Charlene, 4 seats back to back for he and his wife, so that he would not have to sit next to her.
She was a cute and still well shaped lady of mild manner who said, in a weepy tone of hurt resignation, “Anything so you don’t have to sit with your wife.” Joe always addressed her in dismissive and condescending tones that visibly hurt her.
Boomer Joe believed in seniority, the sitting passenger having pride of place. Tranny Jane, a towering pear-shaped manta-thing of 25 years, lisped, “There are seating lists for a reason! Systems must be respected!”
This critter sat with me, reluctantly, as Boomer Joe grabbed his pillow and his wife sulkily followed him on his quest for four seats outside of Denver in the gathering night, promising Charlene a tip if she made it happen. The Tranny opened up a sand-rattle bag of some dozen pharmacy bottles and took a cocktail of meds. I told him, “You can have the window seat. I’ll be in the viewing car,” and headed to the forecastle.
Earlier, headed to Denver, there had been interesting passengers: A married couple of 86 and 88 years from Chile, who spoke of the increasing crime there under communism, two retired business men going to the Glenwood springs health spa, one born in Germany in 1946. There were also two German tourists, a handsome married couple, discussing vacation spots with a Mormon CIA retire and his wife.
Now, we had a tall thin mentally retarded hiker, traveling on his SSI check and trying to make friends, who I callously ignored and these three faɡɡots. They came to the viewing car and sat with their backs to me talking like middle aged women, about all of their aches, and pains, social woes, social fears, insecurities and acceptance. These queers were imitating their mothers! Two were already “Cat Men,” lone Cat Parents!
For all of their fears of social ostracism, they spoke of how Denver, Chicago, Seattle and San Francisco made up an orbit of mass transit friendly, gay friendly, trans friendly destinations. It turns out that driving on all the tranny meds is hazardous and that mass transit is a must for tranny life. Yes, my motoring readers, this intransigent pedestrian is now duly paying for his sins against the automobile nation!
It was somehow more disturbing listening to these young single “males” whine and gossip like middle aged single mothers than living under the homos in Denver having their argument about who sucked more hundreds of cocks!
I returned to my seat and found that a tall, plump, red headed grandma of only 45 sat next to me and said with her lush voice, “Sorry I took your seat. You can have it anytime you want.”
I smiled at her and looked at her thighs and breasts and she smiled back, raising her eyebrows, assured of her seat. She had been escaping tranny seat mates. When the fags all came back and the Viking Tranny looked down at me in fear and lisped to his little homo buddy, “I suppose I’m sitting over there,” she touched my forearm with her soft hand thankfully.
On the long pull into Chicongo, when I strapped on my ruck, Granny Karen behind me thanked me for helping her get her bag down [that the Amish man had stowed], touching my forearm with her palm. The red headed woman, who spoke fluent Spanish and had a 20 year old son watching her house while she visited her daughter and infant grandchild, looked up at me and said, “I wish you well on your journey, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss,” managed this smitten lizard.
Mature women really don’t like young trannies and homos like they did in the past, with many women my age once upon a time fag hags. The Trannies seem to be fixing that.
Off loading at Chicago was a real herd event.
To be continued…
Herd Health Notes
-1. As with the train from Seattle to LA, half of all passengers coughed. At least one passenger in each car coughed constantly. One or two sneezed by the minute. About 10% blew their nose often. A third had the sniffles. Usually three passengers coughed by the minute. The same ratios of sick people held in stations. The Amish exhibit no sickness symptoms. The demographic of the constantly sick are Caucasian, educated, 2 to 1 female over male, with the partner traveling with them rarely symptomatic.
-2. Masking held at 5% on the train and 10% in the crowded station, that is half of California levels.
-3. Physically almost all non Amish passengers average 50 pounds overweight. So many are morbidly obese that there are not enough shuttle carts to shuffle them from station to train and train to station.
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