Amtrekkin' 2

The train to Minneapolis sat in the station while I sat in it, an hour late for departure. Electrical failure on the train, couldn’t take off until it was fixed. The conductor came in over the speaker “Power is down” he said in a near monotone voice “so we ask that you don’t use the restrooms at this time, as they don’t work… unless, you know, you have to, then… whatever.” I chuckled at the announcement and how unofficial the man sounded. I sat, thought, looked out the window, and finished my last post. The train still hadn’t budged. Alas, an hour after scheduled departure we set off towards Minneapolis. I nervously made a dining car reservation after we took off, remembering how Roger said that you eat at a table with random strangers. But my stomach was rumbling and I knew I had to start talking to more people, I’ve been too nervous to strike up a conversation with a stranger too many times now. So I made my 5:30 reservation and nervously awaited my dinner.

The dull scenery of the midwest...

Although I was nervous, I had an admittedly good time at dinner last night. I was sat down with three grandparents. One told me to call her La Abuela (spanish for “The Grandma), and if I was remotely good with names maybe I would remember the other two. The man sitting across from me was doing a similar trip to mine with his wife, but it sounded like they weren’t stopping in the cities as much as I am. He said he used to work for Xerox as an engineer and that for two years of his life he was in charge of every single computer at the Pentagon in Washington DC. The lady sitting next to him was a Librarian, and she said she used to work in a school kind of like Maumee Valley. La Abuela, sitting next to me, left the biggest impression on me. As soon as I told my dinner partners about my trip, what I’m doing, she immediately insisted on buying me dinner. I tried to refuse at first, but she seemed intent on it, and I’m on a bit of a budget, so I accepted her money (as in she put it under my salad bowl haha!). She told our table all about her theories on education, most of which had many parallels to MV. She kept saying that children now a days are smarter than their parents, and she talked about the book she is in the process of writing called “Teachers Gonna Let Me Think” after something her grandson said to her. After a fun dinner we said goodbye and parted ways across the train. I proceeded to sleep for most of the rest of the ride.

The train finally arrived, about an hour or so late, and I loaded my luggage up on my back and set off the the first taxi in sight, a green and white cab. I opened the door and he immediately turns around and asks me in a raised tone “Where you going?!”

“France Avenue South” I replied

He looked puzzled, “Where?!” he shouts back.

“Umm… France Avenue South” I repeated

“Okay, okay,” he says “get in, get in.” So I got into the cab and off we drove into a city completely foreign to me, and apparently foreign to the driver as well. He asks me a few more times where I’m going and I continue to give him the same address over and over. “27?” he asks.

“47!” I was near yelling, how many times did I have to say it? He got on his phone and talked in some foreign language to who I presume was the cab company, asking for directions. He looks over his shoulder real quick, “27?” he was whispering.

“No, 47!” I shot back. I felt bad raising my voice, but how often do you run into a cab driver who doesn’t know where he’s going? We finaly made it to France Ave S, but when he goes to turn onto it from Lake St there is a dead end.

“Here?” he asks me, I can tell he just wants this fare to be over with.

“No I’m pretty sure this isn’t it.” I say. So we park for some minutes, asking people walking by for directions, none of them can help. One man gives me a look that says “I’m so sorry you got the worst cabbie in the city, welcome to Minneapolis, good luck.” Eventually his phone rings, its the cab company, and he starts driving immediately. They get him some proper directions and off we go in the right way, back onto a different France Avenue I guess. We pass 46^th street and he immediately stops the car.

“Here?” he asks.

“47!” I yell, I’m about ready to get out of this cab and start walking, but we go a bit of a ways more and I finally arrive at Lisa’s house. I pay him his barely deserved fare, get out of the cab, and walk up to her very nice home. She showed me my room, and I immediately fell asleep.