hannahsb (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} hannahsb) wrote,@ 2006-06-29 20:31:00 |
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It started with a porn star, and ended when the train hit a car.
Really.
I recently took an "end of the school year" trip with some friends, the types of friends who are still employed as teachers and have money and the time off to take such trips. Not me, I'm just pretending. It was an adventure, really - a train ride to Seattle, a ferry to Victoria, BC, and back - an adventure full of wild and crazy stories that are only funny to me and the other people involved. So I will spare you the details of all stories, but one.
(I will tease you with a direct quote from a 20 year old on the train, directed at me.
"Wait, I know you! You're that girl in that car with us last night."
It's so much better without explanation.)
The one story:
The LA-Seattle Amtrak is chronically 7 hours late, but when this takes place, I had just gotten on in San Jose, and we were only 1 hour late so far. This ride, as scheduled, takes about 24 hours. You get on at 8pm and arrive, if you're lucky, at 8pm the next evening. So you spend the night in a small enclosed space with a bunch of strangers, although the comfort level is somewhat above that of a greyhound or plane.
A young girl, around 20, got on in Oakland and took the seat next to me. She was a bit waif-y, with short, bleached hair and multiple piercings. She was wearing typically torn jeans, a belt with lots of metal and a sweatshirt advertising some punk band I had never heard of. When she bent down to get her backpack, her pants rode so low that I could see straight through to her knees.
She was leaving town because she just broke up with her boyfriend and needed to get away, because she always had a man in her life or else she just felt unlovable, although she didn't believe in monogamy and she hated it when the man wanted to be exclusive - she'd still sleep with other guys but then it was called cheating.
I was kinda sorry I asked.
She said she was a student, working as a pastry chef for the summer. She played in a punk band (of course), but they needed a new guitarist because the other one got addicted to heroin (of course). And she did a little modeling.
We negotiated our way through the night, both pretending we were REALLY uncomfortable, and managed to be civil through the ride. Which by this time was the requisite 7 hours late.
As we pulled into Portland, she got out her phone and started telling some fellow punk-brat about her newest modeling gig.
For an adult website, where she will be on of the top models, and will have a sex advice column.
SO, I spend the night with a porn star.
And on the way back, the train hit a truck at a crossing in Oakland.
Really.
I recently took an "end of the school year" trip with some friends, the types of friends who are still employed as teachers and have money and the time off to take such trips. Not me, I'm just pretending. It was an adventure, really - a train ride to Seattle, a ferry to Victoria, BC, and back - an adventure full of wild and crazy stories that are only funny to me and the other people involved. So I will spare you the details of all stories, but one.
(I will tease you with a direct quote from a 20 year old on the train, directed at me.
"Wait, I know you! You're that girl in that car with us last night."
It's so much better without explanation.)
The one story:
The LA-Seattle Amtrak is chronically 7 hours late, but when this takes place, I had just gotten on in San Jose, and we were only 1 hour late so far. This ride, as scheduled, takes about 24 hours. You get on at 8pm and arrive, if you're lucky, at 8pm the next evening. So you spend the night in a small enclosed space with a bunch of strangers, although the comfort level is somewhat above that of a greyhound or plane.
A young girl, around 20, got on in Oakland and took the seat next to me. She was a bit waif-y, with short, bleached hair and multiple piercings. She was wearing typically torn jeans, a belt with lots of metal and a sweatshirt advertising some punk band I had never heard of. When she bent down to get her backpack, her pants rode so low that I could see straight through to her knees.
She was leaving town because she just broke up with her boyfriend and needed to get away, because she always had a man in her life or else she just felt unlovable, although she didn't believe in monogamy and she hated it when the man wanted to be exclusive - she'd still sleep with other guys but then it was called cheating.
I was kinda sorry I asked.
She said she was a student, working as a pastry chef for the summer. She played in a punk band (of course), but they needed a new guitarist because the other one got addicted to heroin (of course). And she did a little modeling.
We negotiated our way through the night, both pretending we were REALLY uncomfortable, and managed to be civil through the ride. Which by this time was the requisite 7 hours late.
As we pulled into Portland, she got out her phone and started telling some fellow punk-brat about her newest modeling gig.
For an adult website, where she will be on of the top models, and will have a sex advice column.
SO, I spend the night with a porn star.
And on the way back, the train hit a truck at a crossing in Oakland.
