Pizza Without Vincent

One drizzly morning, I arrived at the train station to discover that the south side elevator was out of service. I went inside to decide what I would do. There are typically two alternatives. One is to crawl into the backseat of a taxi and go to the Odenton Station and catch the next local train. The other choice is to go home and call it a day. Getting into a taxi, and equally important, out of the taxi, involves major contortions wherein my shoulder is at risk for yet another incident where pain and weakness could prevail for several days. I opted to go home.

When I do not go into DC on the morning train, I cannot be on the evening train and see the Car 5 Gang. The random association of members will be there although specifically who on any particular day is not known until the door closes and the train lurches out of the station. Even then, there might be a straggler or two who just made it into a vestibule somewhere back in cars 6 through 9 before the doors closed and were delayed as they filtered through the other standees to our usual spot.

Tuesday that week I was not on the evening train. My usual position where I flip up a seat to park my wheelchair was quickly claimed by two people who knew that if I were already there, that seat was theirs. If I did manage to arrive at the last moment, they would vacate the seats and all would be made right again. Of course, when I did show up on Wednesday, I received the third-degree with, “So! Where were YOU yesterday? We saved your spot and you didn’t show up.” Three people made similar comments as though I had no rights to be absent.

“You know, I get less questions where I work when I am not there for a day.”

“They probably don’t save your seat.” I agreed. Occasionally, I get the opportunity to email ahead when I won’t be there, but not always.

We settled into the routine of chatting about the day and the weather and the impending clock change that will darken our mornings again for a while. Princess Carly rested her elbows on the back of the seat next to me and zoned out. Her eyes kind of glazed over and became distant. “Wake, up, Carly,” I said.

“I am sooo tired. I got in last night at 3:30 and got up at 6.” Carly’s youthful indulgences and endurance allow her to still get up and get going to work whereas the rest of us would be out for the count. For the remainder of the ride she leaned quietly on the back of the seat.

A couple of days earlier, she and Trish were hanging around Big Bob’s big pickup truck in the Train station parking garage. They were tampering with the magnetic “Go Navy” signs that adorn the doors. The prank did not go unnoticed by the surveillance cameras and Bob got a phone call that his vehicle had been molested. They wanted to know if he wanted to press any charges. At that time he had no idea who the perps were or what they had done. When Trish heard this, she hurriedly tried to get him on the phone to head off and complications.

As always, the question of pizza and beer on Friday way raised. This would be the on weekend. Larry accepted the donations for the pizza and the plan set.

Friday was one of those days when the morning train arrives of the 16 Track that lacks a level boarding platform. When that occurs with the train I ride in on, it usually means that it will still be there as our 5:20 train back home. This Friday was no different. Five of us queued up in the waiting area until they let us head to the train. Larry had already placed the pizza order and would go back for it after dropping off his backpack on this seat to hold it.

Trish and Mike were among the five who were early. Coast Guard Bicycle Girl arrived later but still in time for a seat. Robert arrived after a week of later trains. Princess was better rested after not going out so late the night before.

During the day I got the Facebook message that the legendary Vincent Chianese from Pittsburgh where I grew up had died on the previous Sunday. Vincent owned Vincent’s Pizza Park in Forest Hills. He opened the shop in 1950 with a unique recipe and amalgam of ingredients and sauce that made people from all over the area come to his store and come back again and again.

I announced, “I know that none of you knew Vincent Chianese, but he was the legendary Vincent of Vincent’s Pizza Park fame in Pittsburgh since 1950. He died on Sunday at age 85.” Then we toasted him and plowed into our less than perfect pizzas from the Union Station pizza place. (Just a plug for a friend's sister's pizza blog: http://www.pizzapizzazz.blogspot.com/)

When we were all satisfied with a slice or two, there remained a half disk of cheesy pizza. “Larry, I guess you’ll have two more breakfast pizzas for the scrambled eggs,” I quipped. The last time he had an entire pizza because too many people did not show up.

“I put scrambled eggs and bacon on the pizza and reheat it.”

I said, “you could also put some grilled chicken and jalapenos and cleve it with a second slice, then broil the whole thing. It would be like a, what is it, a quesadilla.”

Coast Guard Bicycle Girl added, “maybe call it a pizzadilla?” Pizzadilla was a good name for the concoction. So good that it is already in use. The so-called pizzadilla is the inverse of what I was proposing. We were talking about putting the Mexican type ingredients on a traditional cheese pizza whereas the pre-existing pizzadilla combination uses a tortilla with traditional pizza parts. I like my version better. It gives you a higher use for the leftover crusts.

We stepped out into a light drizzle that was actually the harbinger for about 4 inches of rain that would follow that weekend. The ground was so saturated and soft that trees were merely toppling because they were unbalanced and the soggy soil could no longer restrain the roots. The following Monday might be fraught with delays and cancellations of the railroads due to high water and fallen trees. Just another week of adventure in commuting.

Misadventures in Commuting

My morning emails to the office staff group address have become legendary at the place I work. In short there is always something that messes with the seamless process that is supposed to be a daily trip-to-work.

In the olden days (circa 1996) there were the rare occasion s that the Washington Metro would have a problem that caused the next train to be delayed an extra few minutes, but they usually arrived soon and reporting lateness to the office was not necessary. The MARC commuter trains had their hot weather slow downs and powder-snow short circuits when it was sucked into an electric locomotive and melted. Those instances were mostly few and far between.

Looking back at my 16 years of commuting, it appears to me that 2006 was the seminal year when something changed. The change was most probably the result of the accumulation of quantum (that is very small increments) degradation. That notwithstanding, the accumulation has manifest itself as daily disruptions that result in extended work days and days when one “should have stood in bed.”

I was talking with our new intern who rides into DC and the office in a vanpool with two of our regular staff and management. He was asking about how long it takes me to commute. My reply was that my day lasts about 11 hours when one adds the dork hours to the commute hours. The facts are that it takes about 1.5 hour in the morning and about 1 hour-15 minutes in the evening, when everything goes according to the plan.

As we talked, a colleague stopped by and rested her forearms on the half wall that defined the corner work space where the intern sits. She said, “I’m fortunate that it take me 20 minutes to get here. And when everything is really messed up, I can still walk.”

Kevin asked, “how long would that take?”

“Two days.” Then a strategic pause and, “there are a lot of bars between home and here.”

My legendary reports and epic misadventures on the train prompted a woman in our Pacific Northwest remote office to ask that she be added to my report distribution list. Since those days, Twitter has come online and could suffice to share the word about. I didn’t consider the narrative of my challenges to be of interest beyond my immediate circle of co-workers.

The vast majority of Americans sit along in their metal shells and compete for lane space and places to park. For them everyone they can see around them is an adversary, someone who will get there (where ever that is) before them. Drivers continually change lanes in vain attempts to choose the one that will move them along faster than the others.

For those of us who choose trains and subways, there is a sense of comrade-ness that is borne of being in the same boat under the same circumstances, all subject to being just as late as everyone else. That equality is lost when the doors of the MARC open at BWI and the mad rush is on to get to the their cars and start their engines and jump out of the gate for the sluggish climb to the top of the hill where Amtrak Way meets MD 170. But while on the train there is a calm that is not resignation to immutable forces but one where friendships can be formed and loose affiliations form that are able to transcend the drudgery of commuting 40 miles every day on the train after driving sometimes 25 miles just to get to the station.

The Car 5 Gang is one such loose affiliation of misfits, knuckleheads and eccentrics. This is the place where everyone knows your name (and usually are glad you came.) Long absent members who had temporary schedule changes or leaves of absence are greeted by name when they appear in the vestibule doorway. Sometimes the schedule change that keeps them away persists but a spurious change of fortune brings them back to the 5:20 train in Car 5. They always know where the gang will be and seeks them out.

The Social Director, Trish, has been keeping the membership apprised of the upcoming plans to revisit Bamboo Bernie’s to listen to The Reagan Years band again. There is a competing venue that may in the long run win out. It is in White Marsh and is a week or two earlier for TRY. I recommend a good set of OSHA compliant earplugs to save your hearing for your Golden Years. It is not that TRY is in any way a bad performance, but they ARE LOUD.

The most recent Friday homeward-bound commute was well attended by 12 of the Gang, three large pizzas and 2 six-packs. Not everyone drinks the beer, but most everyone at one time or another has the pizza.

Dinner conversation taboos are always ignored on Car 5. Politics, economics and religion are always on the plate. The topic of gun control and de facto registration in the form of having to report who you sell one of your guns to popped to the top of the agenda. Through all the bantering on pro and con positions, I said, “I don’t know anyone I would trust with a handgun around me. You are more likely to be killed by someone who gains control of your gun. You provide your own murder weapon.”

This day was the anniversary of Roe v. Wade and the one year anniversary of the Obama Administration. We expected hoards of protesters heading home during the PM rush hour, but for some reason they didn’t materialize. Other than the short discourse on pending gun control legislation, the meal seemed to take the priority. Soon BWI station was at hand and we did our roundup of litter, bottle caps and crumbs. The race to the garage exit was afoot.

Real Men Ride MARC

It was the first week of January in the new decade. It was the new decade if you subscribe to the notion that Western Civilization denotes decades by the ‘tens digit’ and not by the purist-notion that there was no ‘Year Zero’ and therefore the decade spanned from January 1, 2001 until December 31, 2010, thereby screwing up the decade designations such as the Roaring 20’s. Come off it Guys, this argument goes back 2000 years. Get over it. Blame it on the Gregorian Monks and enjoy the celebration. Besides, I didn’t hear anyone claiming we were celebrating the New Year in error by dropping the big bright ball in Times Square one minute early.

We were headed home in the middle of that first week all happy that it was Humpday and firmly into the second half of the week by at least a one-half workday. Erika was facing the stairs from her seat by the vestibule door when she spied the bag of a man who was sitting upstairs facing our little enclave from above. His bag was stenciled with the message “You best stay out of my way because I ride MARC.” This was just the type of sentiment that was well respected among the Notorious Car 5 Gang members. Erika called out that she liked the message. The man turned the bag around and displayed the other message: “Real Men Ride MARC.”

Erika wanted to know where he got it. She told Loud Bob to go ask him if he made it himself. Bob looked up at it and said, “I not going to ask a man if he made his bag himself. THAT would just BE WRONG.” Erika called up to him again and he replied that he ordered it from a specialty website that will put just about anything you want on various items. (It’s www.spreadshirt.com if you are interested.) I told him he was our kind of commuter and that he should join us when we have pizza and beer on occasional Fridays.

All this time Princess Carly was providing us with the itinerary of her pending New England weekend bus trip to watch a football game. Four layers of warm clothes were suggested for the 7 hour or so early morning ride up north and the extended outdoor day. She could use some advice from Sheila or Rose (the street people who populate the sidewalk near where I work) on surviving long hours in the cold. Although several other people from her job office were also going, she still had to be back for Monday morning.

Thank the Gregorian Monks its Friday.

Our happy hour almost was scuttled by the Red Line delays. When I was almost to the Car, Erika was coming back along the platform. “Did they send you out to look for ME?” I asked.

“No. Larry isn’t here. They said he might have gotten stuck in that Red Line mess. I’m going to see if he’s getting the pizzas.” I was disappointed that they weren’t looking for me, but the pizza did have a higher priority.

Erika returned with Larry and no pizza. Although the order of events had been severely messed up, with who was doing what and all, three pizzas did arrive in due time along with a sufficient supply of Busch and Miller Lite. Billy and Mikey had the brews and I didn’t see who actually carried the pizza to the train because it was ceremoniously passed from hand to hand through the vestibule door into our greedy hands.

The Real Man was back upstairs in his spot watching over the festivities going on below. I motioned for him to join us. He declined.

It was not long before we polished off the food and drink and were all happy and ready for the weekend. Billy asked me something as he stood nearby. I asked him to repeat it because I did not believe what he said. “What do you call those little urges,” he asked?

“What?”

“What do you call those little urges,” he repeated? I was completely baffled by why he was saying that.

“I really don’t know how to answer that question. I have to say NOBODY has ever asked me that.”

Then from beyond where I could see a single word clarified everything. “Clementines.”

“Oh, ORANGES! Bill, don’t want to know that I thought you said." Bicycle Coast Guard Girl keeps a supply of them in her commute bag and had been munching on them all week.

Our ride was over and the train eased into the BWI station. Another week of commuting adventures was behind us.

For L. Bob though, the night was far from over. He was parked near the stairwell closest to the station. When he went to unlock the door of his pickup, the key broke off due to a frozen lock. I stopped to see what I might do. Try as we might, there was no unlocking the door. A phone call to his wife obtained for him a long ride home to get a spare key and ride back to the train station.

We stood there next to the truck talking about various things including how after my wife chewed my out for losing my wallet once, she had her entire purse stolen in 30 seconds in Costa Rica. Try as I might, and I tried very hard, I could not withhold the comment, “Remember when I lost my wallet?”

Well, Bob, have a great weekend.

The Remains of 2009

Most of the days in the remains of December were spend not being at work. One Monday morning, our Director declared the office closed due to the winter storm that laid down upwards of two feet of snow during the weekend. The remainder of the week was business as usual including all the commuting troubles that are a daily affair.

The office is always closed between Christmas and New Years anyway, so many days were not commute days. One day there just before Christmas Eve, we arrived on the 15 Track and I waited for the conductor to drag the lift along the icy platform that had not been adequately prepared for the morning commuters. Several people slipped getting of the train but no one seemed to have gotten hurt. Even thought I suggested to one of the supervisors that they were risking medical liability with poor station maintenance, the same platform was still snow burdened as we were departing our 5:20 train from there too.

I met with several of the Car 5 Gang while waiting on the boarding lift to arrive. They climbed the steps to our usual car while I waited. When the conductor arrived from the head end of the train, there was too much snow and ice by the door so we used the next car forward. "This is only an 8 car train tonight, so it won't matter," Tom said. I boarded further forward and wrangled a fold up seat by getting a passenger to switch sides.

Princess Carly arrived and stood by the back of the seat next to me and closed her eyes. "I am sooo tired and I have sooo much to do," she said. "I could sleep standing up right here." I told her that the rest of the Gang was back one car, but she said, "I can stand here or stand there." She stayed.

The next day we were again on the low platform. This time there was no snow to impede boarding. Carly arrived, early as did George. Both were able to sit. The day was light and few people were standing at all. George shared around a bottle of Vodka in small plastic cups. Coast Guard Bicycle Girl came in minus the bicycle (normal for this time of year) and she too had a seat. No Vodka.

We pondered the schedules of the rest of the Gang and considered a possible social event on the train. Ultimately, Trish used the email list to organize Wednesday, Dec 30 as the date. I was going to be off and away so I was not part of the plan. Too bad, I hear it was a good time.

So to all of the Gang I say, "Have a happy holiday of your choice. And you don't have to pick just one."

Commuter Holiday

The holiday season from Thanksgiving through the end of the year always unhinges the work schedules of the hardcore commuters into DC. This is especially noticeable with members of the Car 5 Gang. The normally stable clan, if you can really call them stable, just is not a cohesive group during this time of the year.

For some people, like Trish, the work schedule changes for an indefinite period of time and are on an earlier or later train. Patrick, moved on to a different job and is essentially gone for good. Extended vacation/holiday work schedules has left Car 5 without Larry and Loud Bob. Jerry is away on some secret mission that we cannot talk about. As for myself, I am there to see the absence of the others. There, that is, until Christmas Eve when I start my own extended absence until the first week of January.

People come and people go, but The Gang abides. At this time of the year we even have a difficult time coordinating pizza and beer days. Someone is in the other is out. Another cannot say and the rest are not in one place in order to firm up the plan. Princess Carly has been there quite regularly and plans to be for most of the remains of the year except for those actual holiday days and maybe a half day before. Loud Bob is off then he is not, so no coordination is happening there. Billy hasn't been seen or heard from for more than a week. We all suppose he is off somewhere with his kids.

George and Mike have been around but not typically on the same days. One day last week, strangers populated our Notorious car leaving only a few available seats. Turns out we only needed three with the Princess and George and myself being the only official members present. With no quorum for member business we adjourned and turned to a bottle of Vodka.

January will bring about a more stable attendance in daily meetings and we will be able to get down to debating once again about the pros and cons of health care reform, global climate change, what that Obama-guy is doing to (or for as the case may be) this great nation, and who had a good performance on those 'talent' shows. The state of commuter rail service performance, infrastructure improvements and stimulus spending will fire up the ire of well seasoned commuters and resurrect desires to write our complaint letters to redress our grievances. But in the end, we board our daily trains and make the commute while leaving our automobiles safely in Garage 1 or 2. Don't get me started about the convergence of egress traffic between the two garages. THAT will be another post altogether.

Just a note. The new north end platform is not far from completion and will be in service soon. There is no telling exactly when they will put up the railing, but inspection and that railing is all that remains to be done before it opens. If the weather moderates, it could be in January. We will have to decide on which "alternate Car 5" we will occupy so as to be close to the walkway to the garages. Car 8 might give us a challenge.

So to the Car 5 Gang, I wish you a happy holiday of your choice – and you are not limited to just one.

Commuting is Not Supposed to be an Adventure

Commuting to DC from Baltimore using the trains is not supposed to be an adventure. Ironically, it is. One day the train is just late departing Union Station in the evening or it is late arriving at BWI Station in the morning. The next day the locomotive shuts down 100 yards out of the station in the track yard and we all have to wait for the word about whether we will proceed soon or be pushed back into the station to await another locomotive. It is a great thing we are not flying. There is no such thing as stopping after departure and living to tell about it.

In the years that I have commuted, many people have come and gone from the place where I sit. Some of them reappear as though by some twist of the space-time continuum and there they are again after four or five years. Mostly, when we meet, there is no recognition that years have passed and not merely weeks or a few months. But there the person is. Sometimes there is the opportunity to catch up on what has transpired but mostly it is a "Hi, haven't seen you in a long time." and then they are gone. Once I met a man with whom I worked 19 year earlier at an Engineering firm before I began the daily trek into DC. He stopped long enough to ask if I was Bob and had worked at the RBA Group. He was Tom any we were there together until the day the US Air Force began bombing Iraq the first time. We were the last hired in Traffic Engineering and Drafting departments. We got the same layoff speech from the VP. That was a one time crossing on the train that one day.

People notwithstanding, the larger portion of the adventures come when an Amtrak locomotive catches fire ant halt all three track north of New Carrollton or the two tracks south of New Carrollton station. There are 1000 ways to be delayed when using the MARC commuters trains and the WMATA Metro Rail systems. Just let me clarify: The worst day on the trains is better than the best days on the Capital Beltway, BW Parkway and I-95 north to Baltimore. More accidents and deaths are recorded on those roads each year than in the 33 year history of Metro and similar history of MARC. The difference is when there are 600 to a thousand other people to share the experience, the legends grow.

We've hit deer on the tracks. We've hit trespassers on the tracks. Brake lines have blow out bringing the train to a rapid halt. Irate or otherwise ignorant passengers have pulled the emergency brake handle. One day in the middle of a particularly hot summer week, the northbound MARC stalled out on the tracks between stations and eight cars of passengers were made to sweat it out until a mob mentality arose and people began removing the emergency exit windows to get air circulation. It was not long before the more bold amongst then dropped themselved out the window and walked to the station to catch cabs and call for friends to pick them up.

Union Station is the transfer point between the MARC and the Metro Red Line. Union station has seen its share of police and security actions when "suspicious packages" have been spotted and we are all corralled away from the alleged danger. The corraling itself poses a greater threat in that upwards of 1000 anxious commuters are halted at the exit doors only to stagnate the flow creating bigger threats to safety. I usually head to the Center Cafe to wait out the delays with other people who use the same opportunity for a relaxing interval. There is a stable group that congregates there during delays.

The best part of the commute comes in the evening when the Car 5 Gang assembles and kicks of 40 to 60 minutes of social time where political ideologies and economic policies are debated with more enthusiasm than in the Congress where Representatives and Senators rely on their staffs to tell then what is in the Bill. We hear the family matters, pet health stories, tales about trying to get rid of groundhogs, and of dissing the ignorant parker who unloads his bags behind the car of a Member who is in a hurry to get home. There are the stories of glory days of military service, police department service and of all the current idiots with whom everyone seems to work. Closer to home, so to speak, there are the occasional fringe commuters who stop in the membership area for a day or two and not recognize the disruption and inconvenience they present. Waldo is a huge man who had a propensity for standing by the door to the vestibule. His mass along with his over stuffed shoulder strap bag would sway side to side brushing up against the people who had seats by the door. On a particularly wobbly day on the tracks his intrusion into their intimate space was more pronounced. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact of his incursions until Inspector Gadget asked him if he was going to keep bumping into him today. He said nothing but was a bit more conscious of his bag.

Mornings are different. Most of the Gang are one various morning trains ranging from 5:30 to 8:00. The evening is where everyone comes together.

Where did the year go?

The season has had the Gang all disbursed on varying train schedules, annual leaves, medical leaves to recuperate from a myriad of elective procedures. Just as we are wondering about the extended absence of a valued member, he or she suddenly shows up again.

Raven had been on the train but earlier or later according to his commuting needs, not our cohesive social ones. He did say that the other trains were "more relaxing" even if not less occupied. So Raven is stressed by a ride with the Gang, I guess. Actually, that would not be so surprising, nor are we incensed by the possibilities.

Princess Carly breezed in to the membership area with the announcement that she and 22 friends will be heading to Deep Creek with 5 caigs. This of course, raised the question of what a caig was. Raven stepped in with a linguistic analysis of the varying pronunciations of the "e" in egg as being either a "eh" or an "A". This consumed about 10 minuted of our daily commute interval. That digressed into how many glasses of beer or gallons were in a caig or half-keg. No matter how one looks at it, 5 of them is a huge amount of beer for 23 people on one weekend.

Trish continues to collect the email and phone numbers of the Gang so at to be up to date on party time when Friday pizza calls our name.

The renovated platform at BWI is nearly complete. Actually it is only the Phase 2 portion at the north end that is nearing completion. The south end segment was completed earlier this year leaving only a small middle section to do. It won't be long now before they switch us to that north end and our "official car" will nave to be switched again.

Some neophyte posed the question as to why we were the Car 5 Gang when we were actually in car 4. I said that that was a long story and it would be changed again soon. Once Car 5, always Car 5. Semper Five!