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Really, People?!

I now have an addition to my "I can't believe they did/said that on the train": clipping fingernails. Seriously? So gross. The woman in the seat behind me was actually clipping her nails on the train--not over anything so she could throw the clippings away, but actually onto the floor. I was so grossed out that I almost said something to her. I just settled for giving her a couple of dirty looks. And what would I say? You are grossing me out? I can't believe you think what you are doing is appropriate? Are you seriously not using a trash bag? Any other ideas?

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.

Look Both Ways

Don't step in front of the train, even if you're in a hurry!

About 5 minutes into my train ride home the other day, the train made an unscheduled stop in the middle of an intersection. And then we waited. And waited. After about 15 minutes, the conductor made an announcement that seemed ominous. In a voice that was obviously upset, he said, slowly, “We will be here … for a while.” Ugg. What does that mean? This doesn’t sound good.

A little while later, the conductor made another announcement, saying we’d be there for at least another 45 minutes. Seriously?! I knew I should have taken the earlier train! He never told us why we were stopped, but it soon became obvious. There were police, ambulance, and firefighter vehicles and personnel all around the train. I could only see a small section of street from my window, but police began arriving to direct cars around the train (which, as I’ve said, was right in the middle of an intersection). It seemed that most of the action was behind me, where the train came from.

I tried to read the paper to help pass the time, but watching the cars and police outside the window was more interesting. After about 45 minutes, there was another announcement. We were going to switch to another train, and so could we all slowly make our way to the front car. Since I was already in the front car, I just made my way downstairs. In about another 5 minutes, a different Coaster train pulled up. We slowly piled out of one car (a BIG step down) and up onto the next train. I went right upstairs and had a good view of the rest of the passengers crossing the tracks to get onto the new train. In about another 10 minutes, we were on our way. Still with no explanation about the delay.

The news the next day revealed that a woman had been hit by the train, and had survived! She was with her brother and they waited for the Trolley to pass, but didn’t notice the Coaster coming on the next set of tracks. It hit her at the legs. On the Coaster a few days later, I overhead one of the engineers say that the woman told him they took a short-cut because they were trying to get home early. So much for that! He also said that this was the first time he’s been on a train that hit someone and the person survived. Two crazy things about that comment: he’s been on a train that hit someone before, and that the rest of the people who were hit had died.

So my typical long day was even longer, but at least I made it home safely!

You Know It's Going to Rain When...

The parking garage at the Oceanside Station.

I can tell it is going to rain when there are less parking spaces available in the parking garage at the train station. The station has both a regular parking lot and a covered garage. The garage is a little farther from the station than the lot, and so is never full when I arrive in the morning. However, when it is raining, or predicted to rain, there are definitely more cars.

When I arrived to the station this morning, there was only one spot left in the section where I usually park, when there are typically at least 10 left. I thought, “What is the deal? Why are there so many cars this morning? Am I late?” After checking the time and realizing that I was right on time, another thought occurred to me, “Maybe it’s supposed to rain.” While on the train, I overheard that it was, indeed, expected to rain that day.

In a previous blog post, I wrote about how we train riders are creatures of habit. We usually ride in the same car, and often in the exact same seat. Parking is no different. Train riders park their cars in the same general area, and in the same spot if they can. I park on the first floor of the garage, next to a barricade (if I can), facing out. I often park next to the same silver BMW. So of course I noticed when there were more cars in the garage than usual, and it totally threw me off my game. Now I had to think, “Where will I park? If I park here, can I get out as quickly? If I park there, will dust from the train get kicked up onto my car?” A lot to consider this early in the morning. But at least I knew one thing for certain: It was going to rain.

What's in a Building?

Side of my building with a Wyland mural.

People who work in “famous” buildings (the Sears Tower, Empire State Building) have some bragging rights, or at least a good conversation starter. I happen to fall into that category, if you consider “Wyland” buildings famous. The office where I work has a huge mural of whales painted on it that covers an entire side of the building. It is one of maybe 100 buildings around the world that feature a Wyland mural.

There are plenty of tall buildings downtown, and my building is small by comparison (seven stories), but it is known none-the-less. Other people will tell you they work in the Wells Fargo building or the Sempra building, but when I say, “the building with the whales on it,” most people know what I’m talking about.

I realized just how “cool” this was when I was on vacation this summer. I was wandering through a Wyland gallery at a popular tourist spot when I stopped in front of a large poster that had small images of all of Wyland’s building murals. The gallery worker sauntered over and explained to me about the buildings. I told him that I knew all about them, since I worked in one of them. He couldn’t believe it. I was so lucky! He helped me locate my building on the poster. “Wow,” he said. “That’s so cool.” “Really?” I thought. I had no idea. It’s kind of like having a hip teenager come up to you and tell you she likes your outfit.

While I rarely think about the whales swimming on the side of my office building, when I do see them (from the train or when I go for a walk to escape my life in a cubicle), I appreciate Wyland’s talent and his commitment to the protection of ocean life. And I think to myself, “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty cool that I work in this building.”

It's a Small World

Current coworkers, former neighbors.

One of the best things about working in an office is getting to know new people. And an even better thing is forming friendships out of these new acquaintances. One of my co-workers has become a particularly good friend, and we have socialized outside of the office on a few occasions. So it came as a surprise to both of us when we found out a pretty amazing fact about the other—we grew up on the same street!

The conversation in the lunchroom one afternoon went like this:

SHANNON: What did you do this weekend?

ME: I saw a play at Moonlight Amphitheatre.

SHANNON: I’ve been to Moonlight before, when I was a kid.

ME: Really? That’s pretty far from where you grew up.

SHANNON: I used to live in Vista.

ME: Really? Where? I grew up in Vista.

SHANNON: Behind the high school.

ME: Off of Goodwin?

SHANNON: Yes, on Gail.

At this point, I seriously almost dropped my lunch as I was taking it out of the microwave.

ME: SERIOUSLY?! I grew up on Gail. What number?

SHANNON: 4XX.

ME: I used to live at 3XX.

Turns out, we grew up across the street from each other, just a few houses apart. We don't remember each other because I moved away when I was 9, and she was pretty young then. She then moved away, too, which is why I thought she had grown up in another city. We have since had many conversations about who we used to play with and how we used to sneak into the high school through the fence of one of our neighbors.

What are the odds? Out of all of the offices downtown, and all of the people in my office, I became friends with a woman who grew up only a few houses from me. So amazing!

When Is Friendly A Little Creepy?

An empty car. Riders usually sit in the same car and same general area.

People are creatures of habit. On the train, people not only sit in the same car each morning and evening, but many often sit in the same seat, or at least in the same general area. Because of this, you get to know people who ride in your car. Among friends and acquaintances, it isn't uncommon to hear, "You weren't here yesterday, did you drive?" or "Did you take the later/earlier train?" Among strangers, it can be unnerving. You generally notice who is on the train and who isn't, but you don't usually point it out to a stranger. I once overheard a woman say to her friend, "We can sit next to him because he gets off in Solana Beach. Right?" She asked him. Then, "You think I don't notice."

Another time a man made a comment to a young student-looking guy who was eating a big sandwich on the train ride home. The man said something like, "That sandwich looks good" (which is a normal thing to say). But then a woman he was with said, "He has a good dinner every day on the train home." The young man just made some comment about how he saves his lunch for later, but seemed a bit weirded out. I would be, too, if I knew that somebody noticed what I was eating every day.

So I guess the moral here is to realize that you will get noticed in this micro-commuting world, but that there is a fine line between being friendly and creeping someone out.

All in the Family

My Mom and me on the Coaster together.

In my Coaster commuter world, there are two sets of regulars on the train who are couples: an older couple who sit quietly and read the newspaper in the morning, and a young couple who bike to the train station together and work at UCSD. I am also part of a commuting family group, although the dynamics are a bit different. One day per week my Dad rides the Coaster to see his grandkids, and another day my Mom rides the Coaster, also to see the kids. They share a Coaster pass, and so can't ride together. Plus, the point is to help my sister out with her two children, so she gets help from either Mom or Dad twice per week.

My Dad and me during our morning commute.

On those mornings, I get to ride with one of them half-way to downtown. (They get off at an earlier stop.) It's a nice way to spend the time in the morning, plus I know that some annoying person won't sit next to me. They take an earlier train home, so I don't see them in the afternoon, but, those two days, I look forward to talking to them during the morning commute. I wonder how many other people are part of our elite group of family commuters.

Where I Begin and End

San Diego Santa Fe Station, on the National Register of Historic Places.

To give you a sense of place in my commuter world, I begin in Oceanside in the morning and end in San Diego. The trip takes me almost exactly 1 hour. At the end of the day, I do it all over again (but starting in San Diego). The San Diego Santa Fe Station is a historic landmark, or something important like that.

Oceanside Train Station, not on any sort of historical list.

Oceanside doesn't have any type of cool designation, but it does have free parking in an enclosed garage, and connections to buses, the Sprinter (train going east), and trains going north (Amtrak, Metrolink). It is also two blocks from the beach, and smells of ocean air.

And so my work days begin and end.

Fashion It's Not

My "commuter" shoes.

Anyone who has walked along a busy city street on a weekday knows about the tennis shoe fashion rule. This rule states that if you walk to work or walk from public transportation to your place of employment, you are allowed to wear comfortable walking shoes, even if it looks ridiculous. I'm not sure what fashion guru Tim Gunn has to say on the subject, but I, as a general follower of fashion trends, think it's a necessary fashion faux pas. That said, most people who ride the Coaster don't do this. Generally, I've noticed, they wear practical shoes to begin with—no stiletto heels for these casual So Cal office workers.

I, on the other hand, like to wear heels or otherwise not-so-comfortable-but-fashionable shoes to work. So, I am one of the few Coaster riders who wears "commuter shoes." I don't wear tennis shoes but unassuming black slip-ons in colder weather (see photo), and flip-flops when it's warm. I find it strange when I see women in heels on the train, and wonder how far they have to walk in those things to get to their office.

The best part about wearing commuter shoes is the end of the day when I can take off my office shoes and slip on flat, comfortable shoes to walk to the train. Ahhhh.

Train Delays: Still Better than Traffic

The train schedule, which, barring a disaster, is pretty accurate.

Long delays on the train are rare, but they do happen. And when they do, after getting over how totally annoyed I am, It actually makes me appreciate the train more for getting me to and from work, on time, almost every time I ride. The four major delays that occurred while I was riding were all the result of a major event that directly affected the rail line: a fire, a "flood," an earthquake, and a train crash.

The fire happened in the afternoon, at about the middle of the train route. I was excited because I was able to leave work early that day and catch the earlier train. That proved to be a moot point, since we sat at the station for about an hour waiting for the fire to be put out. This meant that two trains were now combined into one, and I didn't get home any earlier.

The flood was the result of heavy rains that lasted for more than a week. Since the train rides through a pretty extensive wetlands area, rising water can occasionally be a problem. This time was also on the train ride home, and we actually made it to the second station. There, we waited for about an hour while a crew came in to check the tracks. I was with my friend and co-worker Shirley, so at least I had company. And they let us leave the train, so Shirley went to a near-by deli and bought us a six-pack of beer. We shared with a few others around us, and generally enjoyed ourselves, even though Shirley had to cancel a dinner date.

The earthquake, although not large, was apparently pretty jarring. None of us on the train would know, though, because we didn't feel it. It happened about 5 minutes into our ride home. We knew it happened because people's cell phones started ringing and the news quickly spread. We again made it to the second station, and waited there while they checked the tracks. This took about 30 minutes.

The train crash was more dramatic, as it involved riders actually getting off the train and being shuttled on buses. After getting on the train one morning, an announcement was made that we would go as far as Sorrento Valley (about 30 minutes into the 1-hour total ride) and be shuttled to the last two stops by bus. We weren't told the reason at the time (maybe they said "cars on the tracks"), but we later learned that a freight train (no passengers) had jackknifed off the tracks the night before in an area that only has one set of tracks. Many people, upon hearing this, got off the train, presumably to drive or maybe just ditch work. I stayed, since I didn't want to deal with traffic and then parking downtown. The ride was typical except that the train was pretty empty, since many people made other arrangements. At the Sorrento Valley station, we were all herded off the train and into about 10 waiting buses, which then got onto the freeway (into morning traffic) and drove us to the last two stops. This made me about 30 minutes late, but it actually wasn't too bad. The train was back to normal for the commute home, and the derailed cars could be seen on the side of the tracks for the next week or so.

Despite these four pretty serious delays, the train has been good to me. I don't have to deal with car traffic every day, two times per day, and I get to relax and read or sleep to and from work. That's a pretty good trade-off, I'd say.