This weekend Chad and I rode the train from San Francisco to Eugene. I haven't ridden the train in years and MAN have I been missing out! Granted, without a spot in the sleeping car it can be difficult to catch some shut-eye, but who wants to sleep when shenanigans are happening at each passing second? I practically ran to and from the stench they call a bathroom, afraid of missing something legendary. It all started with the dude rattling off his obscure celebrity sightings. I wish I could give more detail, but I was trying my best to focus on the intense game of boggle I was involved in. Lucky for you, I can tell you the best part. After and hour or so of this one-sided-semi-star-studded conversation, dude got up and said "It was nice to meet you, man."
Next came the hippie kid (whose stop was obviously going to be the same as ours). He was writing in his journal, and next to him sat a stone that had been pulled from a red velvet satchel that looked like it was made to hold the 12-sided die of a Dungeon Master. Chad had the stroke of genius to inquire about said stone.
"I was in Yosemite and I sat down to have a cigarette. I dropped the butt and it rolled under this one big rock. I didn't think much of it, but the next day I sat down for a cigarette again... and... I'm sorry, I'm really drunk... and, uh... I had the cigarette and it rolled under a rock and I realized it was the SAME ROCK so I looked underneath and I saw something... it was this stone, and I dug it out and the thing that's crazy about it..." He proceeded to make us guess which half of the stone was opaque and which was transparent. Apparently I guessed right, which threw him for a loop, and he held it up to the train light, which threw me for a loop since I saw no difference in the opacity from one side to the other. So awesome. Turns out this rock was a Bad Rock, cursed if you will. A shaman let him know that it had bad energy and needed to be bathed in the sea, so this guy washed it in Lake Tahoe. Note: Lake Tahoe, so it is my belief that this rock is still cursed. I came to this conclusion after I touched the rock and am now interested in undergoing some sort of exorcism. If you know a guy, put me in touch.
The sun rose to the sound of a 19-year-old kid, built like a football player, talking non-stop to a woman it was clear he had just met. I felt bad for this lady until I realized she was egging him on cougar-style. When he busted out his sketch-book she oohed and aahed over his "unique talent." And then this little gem dropped from his lips, "You know what RAP stands for? Retards Attempting Poetry." Offensive on so many levels, right? Our Cougar said "HAHAHAHA. Oh, it's so true! I've never heard that before!" They stayed on the train after we got off, so I'll never know if it ended in a love connection. My guess is no.
My favorite was the dude wandering back and forth through all of the cars for about an hour, sometimes alone, sometimes with some harrowed-looking train staff, but always repeating "I can't find my seat," or "Do you know where my seat is?" or "Hey. Hey, which way did I come from?" Mind you, there were only 4 passenger cars. He did have a sports jersey on, he did not have any shoes on. Chad exchanged some words with him, "Hey man, if you see some shoes on the ground and they are yours, that's probably your seat."
