Posts Tagged ‘job’

Some say being a lover of trains is a choice. Others say it’s an interest you’re just born with. This argument is often applied to other deeply-seated orientations. The point is, I can no longer deny my interest in trains and I choose to express it publicly, despite the risk of becoming a social outcast. I believe my passion for trains is healthy and hip, but the trainophobic think I’m off the rails here. They worry I’ve become trainsgendered. For too long I’ve been a closeted train admirer – practicing my secret passion with other nerdy train enthusiasts in dark basements on small scale equipment while sipping on juice boxes. No longer am I willing to operate on the fringes of society while living this double life. Therefore, I hereby publicly declare my love of trains. I’m finally “coming out of the caboose.”

 

We all have hobbies we’re drawn to for reasons known only to our original manufacturer. For me, that magnetic force has been trains. Why I have such an affinity for these steely behemoths that lumber through the night, is a question for Dr. Lionel, my train whisperer (and my psychologist). Dr. Lionel and I have held many earnest and penetrating discussions on trains. We’ve covered everything from the dichotomy of sitting backward while moving forward, to the carnal symbology of trains entering tunnels. I cherish Dr. Lionel’s sage advice as he guides me through the mixed signals and missed switches of railroading. As you may have surmised, trains are a very moving topic for me. Still, I find it hard to believe, that in all the time Dr. Lionel and I have spent together, he’s never once failed to bill me for each session.  

 

I can’t account for my unbidden fascination with trains. All I know is that train has left the station and I’m forever enchanted. In fact, at this juncture railroading is so appealing to me, that even at the advanced age of 62, as I begin collecting Social Security, I nonetheless seek employment with Amtrak as a conductor. More on this later.

 

So, let’s go for a ride and hope I stay on the rails in describing the depth of my railroading passion and the height of my Amtrak adoration. In any event, near the end of this story I solicit your opinion in helping me formulate a mighty decision. Much like Dr. Lionel does, may you offer me sage advice; in addition to maybe some parsley, rosemary and thyme.   

 

 

New Train Smell – A Whiff of Heaven or a Hint of Hell

 

“You haven’t lived until you’ve inhaled the magical must of ‘new train smell’,” declare railroad enthusiasts infected by the train bug. “Once bitten, you’re forever smitten,” say these inveterate train buffs. However, some wonder if there is, or ever has been, “new train smell.” It’s hard to tell these days because Amtrak hasn’t put new trains into service in so long, there is no one left alive who remembers what new trains smell like.

 

Complicating this is that not everyone has the “new train smell” gene, enabling them to sense this alluring aroma. It’s kinda like the “asparagus” gene that way. Sadly, these scent-deficient souls will never know the pleasure of this intoxicating sinus sensation – and no amount of training can change that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Neolithic carvings from the Olduvai Gorge indicate that the last person in the conga line was known as the kaybus, which eventually morphed into our present-day caboose. This theory of the “new train smell” gene mutating in the conga lines of God-fearing hominids has become known as Critical Nose Theory and has become a flash point for present-day cultural warriors.

 

Neolithic carvings from the Olduvai Gorge indicate that the last person on the conga line was known as the kaybus, which eventually morphed into our present-day caboose. This concept of the “new train smell” gene mutating in the conga lines of God-fearing hominids has become known as Critical Nose Theory.

 

 

What is New Train Smell?

 

Nosey railroaders describe the heady bouquet of “new train smell” as, “an intoxicating swirl of stamp-pressed steel, outgassed Naugahyde and delicate notes of diesel vapors culminating in a transportive smellucinogenic aroma.” Admittedly, it’s a developed appreciation. This salmagundi of smells, this obstinacy of odors, all come together in a crescendo of bracing olfactory satisfaction. It summons a vestigial calling within me that says, “All aboard Amtrak!” Then again, maybe that’s just my inner-hominid speaking.

 

 

Train Besotted and Loving It

 

I’m hesitant to admit all this because you might think I’m a little loco, but in my narrow-gauge railroad mind, there’s nothing as nostalgically charming or kinetically gratifying as train travel. My loco-motive for telling you all this, is to share the shiver of infantile delight that shoots through my body while chugging along the tracks in the protective womb of my train car (as long as I’m not in India). When I’m warmly embraced in compartmentalized comfort I feel like a little baby traveler, all swaddled snuggly in Amtrak’s ever-lovin’ rails. Alright, so maybe I am a little loco. Read the rest of this entry »

Me:    So what do you do for a living?

Them: I’m a typesetter.

Me:    Really. They still have those? Where do you work?

Them: In the 1700s.

Me:    OK. Well that’s a long way from here. How do you get there?

Them: Time machine.

Me:    Why don’t you get a job in the here and now?

Them: Because they don’t have these type jobs here.

 

Conversations I’ve Had in 1722

Me:    So what do you do for a living?

Them: I’m a word processor.

Me:    Hmmm. Never heard of that. Where do you work?

Them: In the 2200s.

Me:    Really. And how do you get there?

Them: Time machine.

Me:    Why don’t you get a job in the here and now?

Them: Too much of a process.

Me:    I know a guy you could job share with. Maybe you’ve met him on your commute. 

The circumstances of my early life afforded me opportunities a wellborn boy might never have had. Not that I was poorly-born, but I certainly wasn’t wellborn either. Let’s put it this way, I was just…well…born – without being wellborn. My strained syntax has led some to label me a White Semanticist, but I consider myself more of a Grammar Cracker.  And I always thought a syntax was something you paid to the devil for having a little fun.

 

More to the point, when I was a teenager working at my family’s glass shop, I was privy to a cast of colorful characters we employed from time to time. They ranged in temperament from the rowdy rascal to the lovable lug to the bastard biker. This clutch of inexpert glaziers were usually from the Italian Northside enclave of Syracuse. They all knew each other from high school and they also knew that Eastwood Glass was a quick way to transform themselves from hungover on a Sunday to gainfully employed on a Monday. This employment makeover usually was the result of receiving a call from one of their network of friends alerting them that Eastwood Glass needed a couple of guys for some jobs that Monday.

 

One of these bevy of factotums was Vinnie Fanucci. Mr. Fanucci…nah, that doesn’t sound right. No matter how many times you say “Mr. Fanucci” it just doesn’t ring true – it sounds like some kind of Italian undersea character featured on Sponge Bob SquarePants. You simply cannot have a “Mr.” before Fanucci and not think in terms of a cartoon character. While he wasn’t exactly a Mr. Fanucci, he was definitely a Vinnie – through and through.

 

Vinnie and his motley band of cohorts (Johnny Ventresca, Mike Procopio, Stewart Vendetti, Nicky the boxer, a fat guy named Tiny et al) all somehow made it through high school – probably because Principal Spadafora couldn’t stand the thought of having them back for another year and ushered them through the system. And since they weren’t in jail and were able to blink their eyes in unison, they qualified easily as potential Eastwood Glass Shop employees. Vinnie worked on and off for us in the late 70s and early 80s and enjoyed the casual barrier to entry into the workforce that Eastwood Glass afforded him. He was amateurish yet dogged in performing the skills of a glazier.

 

Vinnie was a streetwise guy, combining equal parts kindness and rowdiness. He suffered from strabismus – a misalignment of the eye whereby he’d be looking at you straight in the face, but he’d be describing something happening 30 feet down the street. His affliction is more commonly referred to as being wall-eyed. His visual defect wasn’t a problem, but it could’ve been. I mean it’s not like we were working with large and dangerously brittle panes of glass that could sever an artery or something.

 

Vinnie’s friendly Roman face possessed warm, endearing puppy dog features – like if Robert DeNiro had been born a Beagle. He learned his roughhewn ways on the street where I’m sure he also learned any Japanese tea ceremony etiquette he may have picked up.     Read the rest of this entry »

   

Memorandumb

 

From: Human Resources Dept. – a division of HP Primate Services

Topic: Hiring Procedures

Attention: Hiring Supervisors

Security Level: Eyes only. Do not circulate or copy document. Especially no copying since even we can’t afford our own ink cartridges.

 

Attention Hiring Supervisors,

In an effort to ensure a high-caliber workforce (high-caliber in terms of achievement and not weaponry), Hewlett-Packard’s Human Resources Dept. (or HP’s HR) has created this determinative questionnaire to screen prospective litigants employees for suitability. Applicants must answer all questions, after which they can expect to have their wallet returned. Read the rest of this entry »