Maybe We’ll Meet Again, Someday

The story of my commuting days would not be complete without Carey. I saw Carey practically every day I rode the train. He worked in my building (for another company), so we also often ended up in the elevator together in the morning. One afternoon I saw him sitting across from me on my ride home, and I said something like, “We work in the same building.” (Note that I am not the kind of person who makes small talk with strangers. The only reason I said anything to Carey is that he is young [I found out later he was 25] and cute.)

What happened next I never would have guessed. He opened his mouth, and never closed it. His commute ended two stops before mine, and, in that time, I learned that he is married (but no ring), has two boys (one with Asperger’s), doesn’t like to read, doesn’t make enough money to get his moped fixed, hasn’t talked to his sister in 2 years, and started doing drugs at a young age because his parents both did drugs. This all in the first 45 minutes I ever talked to him. Needless to say, my attraction to him was quickly squashed. At least he brought up his wife in our first meeting, in case I had any ideas.

The next morning I got another earful all the way to downtown when he sat next to me on the train. As if I needed any more confirmation, this meeting solidified my thoughts that I didn’t want Carey to think that we were now “train friends.” He was exhausting just to listen to – he had so many stories and talked so fast. I learned that this was not his first marriage (he got married at 18 because he got a woman pregnant but then they lost the baby – seriously, he’s telling me all this!) and that he is a Jehovah’s Witness. He told me about how he was disciplined at work and about his problems trying to get on medication for ADD (why any doctor would doubt that he needs meds is beyond me). I don’t think, at this point, that he knew anything about me except my name, where I worked, and that I wasn’t married. The rest was all him.

I put an end to our morning conversations by riding in a different train car. I would then have to walk slowly to the office so we didn’t end up in the elevator together. I knew which car he took home, too, so I rode in a different one. After a couple of months I figured there was no harm in quick conversations with him, so I started walking with him from the train to the office in the morning. I would catch up to him when we got off the train, and we would walk together. He said nothing about my absence at first, but once later mentioned (as a “joke”) that he knew I must be avoiding him.

From then on, we walked together from the train, and I got these brief updates about his life, work, wife, kids, financial situation, how crazy his family is. It was almost always entertaining, but I never felt that we parted too soon. Our relationship ended when the bank that he worked for went under and another bank bought it out. Only a handful of the former bank employees were re-hired, and Carey wasn’t one of them. We didn’t have a formal good-bye, as I didn’t see him on his last day, but I feel that we had said all that there was to say (well, he did, anyway).

I think about Carey every once in a while, and hope that he found another job and that he keeps taking his ADD meds. It was a good lesson for me that I need to be careful about striking up conversations with random guys, even the young cute ones.

My No. 1 Fan

Since my commute takes 1 hour each way, I don’t have time in the morning or evening to go to the gym. When I worked from home, I used to go to the gym in the afternoon, so, when I got my new job, I figured out a way to also work out in the afternoon: I run on my lunch hour.

My office is two blocks from San Diego Bay, which makes it easy for me to get in a quick run along the water. I have a beautiful view of the San Diego skyline and, during the hot summer, a nice ocean breeze. What I also have is the company of about 10 homeless men who hang out on the benches along the waterfront.

I have never had any problems with the homeless men, except for the occasional times when they are feeding the pigeons and sea birds and I have to run through a crowd of birds (gaggle? flock?) who are congregated on the sidewalk. I also once had a man throw a plastic cup at me, although I’m not sure if he was actually aiming for me, or if he was generally throwing the cup and I happened to sort of run into it.

The funniest encounter I had was with a younger man who I used to see regularly at his bench. I was running one afternoon and was approaching him as he sat on the bench. When I got close, he started clapping and cheering me on. I was caught by surprise, and started laughing. He must have noticed, because he clapped again on my way back, and for the next few days after whenever I ran by. I had my own cheering section.

He has since moved on, but thinking about his cheering still makes me laugh, which is great since, as those of you who are runners know, any sort of encouragement helps.

Trains and the Gender Divide

As I noted in my last post, all of the people who work on the Coaster are men, except one: Cindy, one of the engineers who drives the train. Here is another train/gender-related observation: All (yes, all) of the people I’ve seen taking photos or video of the train have been boys/men.

Without fail, a couple of times a month, I see one man or a small group of guys with a nice camera or video camera on a tri-pod at one of the train stations or along the route somewhere. These aren’t tourists just snapping photos of the local train; they have obviously planned this outing, and probably even know the train schedule.

Since childhood, boys seem to have a fascination with trains. While girls may share this fascination for a while, they seem to grow out of it at some point—probably around the same time they start to love horses or princesses. Some boys never grow out of it, as seen with those who love model trains.

I wonder, though, what do these photographers/videographers do with their footage of trains? Do they have a collection? Is there a website to post such things? Maybe a local train enthusiast group? Maybe I’ll ask one of them if I get the chance. I’m sure there is a lot to this train subculture than meets the eye.

Trains: Still a Boys Club, with Exceptions

Where the boys are; Cindy is the lone woman who drives the train.

The guys who work on the Coaster are generally young, outgoing, friendly, helpful, and, often, funny; I have no complaints. However, they are all men—with one, quite unusual, exception: one of the engineers who drives the train is a woman.

Cindy is probably in her late 40s with long, thick light brown hair that she often wears down. She dresses like the guys, which is a uniform, of sorts: jeans or khakis with a company polo or button-down shirt and work boots. I know who she is because she is very friendly. I haven’t seen any of the other engineers who drive the train, but she comes out and talks to passengers when the train is idle and knows many of them by name. On the train I take in the morning, she is usually the driver, and I often see her talking to other passengers.

As far as I can tell from my brief Internet search, becoming a train engineer is pretty competitive, and, while it doesn’t require a college degree, it requires long years with a company working your way up. In addition, it requires practical experience with mechanical issues, as in, being able to “work on” the train if there are issues. I suppose that is why the job appeals more to men than women; men tend to be more interested in working on cars and motors.

So, my hat is off to Cindy, who is not only friendly, but is kicking feminist butt in the train world.

Living By the Tracks

Remember in Pretty in Pink when Molly Ringwald’s character didn’t want her rich date to take her home because she didn’t want him to see where she lived? Tellingly, she lived “on the wrong side of the tracks.” Which has become a metaphor for the “bad” part of town, but is also a true characteristic of poor neighborhoods: they are often next to railroad tracks.

San Diego isn’t quite like that, but, judging by the number of places where my friends or I have lived that I can actually see from the train, it is true that you can find cheaper rent in this area if you can hear the train horn or intersection warning bells.

I noticed this truism one morning while on the train when I realized that I could see the apartment complex where a good friend of mine lived when we were all in our early 20s. A cute little four-unit complex that is probably 100 yards from the train tracks. A few days later, I realized that I could also see the former apartment of two other friends who lived just as close to the tracks, plus on an intersection with warning bells. This got me thinking and watching, and I realized that I could see the former apartments of two additional friends, plus my former residence, from the train.

I thought this quite odd at first, since San Diego County doesn’t have an abundance of railroad tracks. It took me a few days to put it all together. Not only are these places close to the tracks, they are close enough that I can actually see them from the train. I also remembered that when I lived in my rented condo in Leucadia, I could hear the train and warning bells and had to turn up the TV or pause telephone conversations until the train went by – it was that close and that loud.

While all places near the tracks are by no means cheap (the train goes through some pricey real estate in Carlsbad, Encinitas, Solana Beach, and Del Mar), by my unscientific observations, cheaper rent can be found if you are in eyeshot of the train tracks. And for those of us who were just starting out and wanting to live by the beach, track-side apartments were our only option.

The Empty Desk

A cubicle by a window is a prime spot.

When it comes to prime office space, nothing is sacred. When the announcement was made that the guy in the cubicle next to me was no longer going to work in this office, the “drive-bys” began. People at first just walked by his spot to see if it was any good. By a window; check. Quiet part of the office; check. Relatively private; check. People asked me questions about the temperature near the window: Does it get too hot with the sun coming in? And about the glare: Do the shades work to block the glare? And the foot traffic: Do a lot of people walk by here? I was amazed by the number of inquiries.

Then the pilfering started. First it was one or two guys who have cubicles near us who needed a stapler or some pens. Next people started taking bigger stuff like books, magazine racks, and the mouse pad. Finally, when most of the good stuff was gone, people settled for what was left, like push-pins and a note pad. The funny thing is, we can get any of this stuff in the supply room. I’m not sure what the appeal was of taking his things. The thrill of being caught? The feeling that the grass is always greener? Maybe just an excuse to check out the space? Whatever the reason, his cubicle is now almost completely bare.

I am no innocent bystander in all of this. After all, whoever takes his spot will be sitting next to me. I will be able to hear all of his/her phone conversations and casual office discussions. I will find out things about his/her personal life, and even (as with the previous guy), bank account numbers and schedules for doctor’s appointments. My stake is so high, in fact, that I talked to the HR person and put in a personal request for “someone who is quiet and doesn’t talk on the phone a lot.” I even discouraged a couple potential tenants by telling them that the glare is really bad and the view isn’t that great anyway. The good news for me is that there is some remodeling going on, and many people will be moved around. Until they decide who goes where, the spot next to me will remain unoccupied—and quiet.

Usuals Not Always Usual

The usual commuters on the Coaster are just that, usual. Typical business people who work at UCSD, Qualcomm, or other large employer in the Sorrento Valley area, or who work in downtown San Diego, often for the County of San Diego or a law firm. These people are generally quiet and often read a book or newspaper in the morning or carry on conversations with their commuter friends.

Then there are the not-so-usual usuals. My favorite is the eyeliner/hair woman. I wish I had a picture of her, but I can’t figure out how to take one without being obvious. Her look never waivers; even her clothes are the same, with little variation. She has long, bleach-blond straight hair that is beyond damaged. It is usually back in a low ponytail with a beehive-type thing at the top. She pushes up her hair from the back with a large barrette so she has these high sort-of bangs. She always wears dark eyeliner all around her eyes, giving her a strange 60s/punk look. She wears dark tights (black, brown, or dark green), short flair skirts, and big belts around her waist. Her shirt and skirt are always in the same color family of mustard, dark green, or brown. I can’t figure out what kind of job she has that she would wear such an outfit every day. Hostess? Tour guide? I want to follow her one day and get the scoop.

Another unusual usual looks like a regular guy, but decidedly isn’t. He is a hummer—a pretty loud one. And, he isn’t even wearing headphones; he just hums to himself whatever random tune is in his head. He also clears his throat in a way that sounds like a horse—seriously. He is quite odd, and doesn’t seem to realize that other people exist. He sometimes stands in the aisle while other people are leaving, waiting to take their spot, but totally in their way.

The towel guy is quiet and quite normal, except that he always puts down a salmon-colored towel before sitting down. He carries it in a tote that he has with him. I hope he puts the same side down every time, otherwise, using the towel is kind of pointless.