I am in the “jump-seat” in our cabin on the Empire Builder. Jeff is in bed, which means he is 12 inches away. This afternoon we negotiated on how many times he may cause me to wake up tonight. I suggested 2. He thought 3. “Done,” I said. Any number of “wake Emily ups” that exceed the number 3, is the number at which I may refuse and say “No. Back to bed. As per agreement.” Let’s see how that goes.
Mom and I have a thing we say, and this started at least in the declining years of my dad, who died of Parkinson’s in ’09. At a certain point of night, his “carriage turned back into a pumpkin.” This is the point at which function and mental clarity become dicey at best. With our 20 or so “wake Emily ups” last night on the Cardinal, Jeff’s pretty much been a pumpkin all day. This means that we cannot move, without firm hands-on guidance, about the train at all. If we are not holding hands as I lead the lurching way through the 75 or so cars between our caboose sleeping car and the dining car, he will become confused by every human head he sees, no matter the gender or hair color, and freeze in perplexity. (It’s 2 coach cars, then the observation car, then two more coach cars, then the dining car. Ok, so I hyperbolized by 70. These are long cars.)
I am pleased to say, though, that The Empire Builder has reclaimed and possibly exceeded the level of service we experienced on Amtrak in October, and which I found lacking on the Cardinal. Stands to reason, I guess, for a line that is named after men who routinely self-congratulated as they wiped out entire civilizations on their way to conquer the American West. We were even served dinner on “china” aka Corelle. And the food was several cuts above. Still leaving me to wonder just how Amtrak determines which routes get short shrift and which are worthy.
Nonetheless, Mom and I have, we believe, managed to get on the blacklist of dining car powers-that-be on both legs of our trip. On the Cardinal, we surmised that the laggardly speed at which we were served breakfast was due to our not tipping the dining car lady to her liking. We did not realize she took orders, microwaved, AND served, is the thing, and we made up for it by tipping well at breakfast, even after she punished us. Here, on the Empire Builder, we’ve run all sorts of wrong ways with Fran from the dining car. First, after showering Jeff in the more commodious downstairs shower room, we emerged as I was giving Jeff the sort of clearly articulated directions he needs (“Jeff, we are going this way,”) only to notice that Fran was making an early dinner announcement on a microphone right outside in the corridor. She stopped, mid-sentence, and stared at me while I hastily hushed myself. Mom, who was upstairs, says she didn’t hear me over the P.A. system, but Fran is not to be trifled with. Our dinner reservation was for 6:30. Having to traverse half the length of Wisconsin to get to the dining car, we left early to wait halfway in the observation car. (Here’s the Amtrak rule: Don’t come to the dining car until they invite your reservation time via P.A.) Here’s the problem: Announcements were apparently not getting to the observation car so when Mom finally, at almost 7, went to check to see whether we’d missed our call, Fran told her in no uncertain terms that 6:30 had been called “3 times.” Shortly thereafter, Fran called the 7:00 people, admonishing a colleague to repeat the announcement in the observation car because “people are claiming they’re not hearing the announcements.” Fran must not have gotten to our waiter, because he was nice to us. We hope we have paid our dues now, and will be served breakfast. (below: Gale and Jeff befriend a frisbee player in Chicago.)
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