Wednesday, March 9, 2005, 6:06pm
Wednesday, March 9, 2005, 6:06pm
South Station ‘redcaps’ are those older 1950s-looking guys wearing 1950s-styled taxicab hats pushing 1950s vintage luggage carts for the benefit of those too lazy, incapacitated, or otherwise overburdened in 2005 to haul their own luggage to and from the Amtrak trains. The woman who publicly hails a ‘redcap’ from time to time over the South Station public address speakers has raised my attention as I wait – not because I am a redcap or even in need of a redcap, and perhaps simply because I have nothing else drawing my attention. When she’s not hailing redcaps, the woman’s voice normally falls into a drone as she struggles to repeat some prefabricated lawyer-composed security warning of the day – words I can easily ignore with no plans to leave luggage or parcels unattended.
To stay warm I linger tonight indoors just inside the glass wall leading to the outdoor concourse. I happen to hear her plainly – not just because the speakers are louder here or the train noise farther away or an internal call of duty compelling me to absorb the usual drivel – but because she is making her points tonight in a way that ordinary ears are preprogrammed to hear. By ad libbing her own script, perhaps she’s had enough of the lawyerized bullshit.
“Those of you with luggage on the tables… you can’t leave it there even if it’s got labels with your name on it. If you gotta walk around this big train station with all these people everywhere you gotta take your stuff with you. If you leave your luggage behind with nobody watchin’ it, that isn’t good and I promise you that the city police will take it, or the Amtrak police will take it, or the T police will take it, and if none of them will take it, then I’ll be takin’ it!”
Perhaps that wasn’t the most tactful composition ever, but neither was it spoken with a voice from the dead in the usual zombie-monotone we all learn to ignore everyday. I can almost overhear that woman telling her boss – “If you want these people to listen instead of just trying to cover your legal ass — then let me do the talking instead of this crap that comes down from the stuffed suits upstairs…”
Perhaps, but more likely she didn’t ask, and nobody upstairs noticed.
“This will be the first and last call for the 6:05pm Worcester Train on Track 2…”
Many suspect a wayward train now arriving at 6:04pm is pulling into South Station to become our train at Track 2. With that, the race is on. The train grinds to a hissing stop with one double-decker coach missing, enough seats for 150 passengers.
A few minutes late we board and are underway. I suppose by arriving late at Back Bay we’ll pick up added late-arriving stragglers and perhaps a few early birds for the next train as well – adding to our overcrowded misery.
Now many minutes later I do not feel any misery. From the ‘redcap woman’ I’ve had my entertainment for tonight.
Across the lake we pass the Natick Labs rolling without stopping since Back Bay. It is an almost instantaneous commute unlike the endless trek from this morning (or so it seemed). At West Natick Station elbowroom returns for a minute until two standing refugees dive for my three-seater. At the last second the woman heading for the aisle end of the seat hesitates, changes her mind, and disappears from view.
After the West Natick exodus the train is still full enough that several choose to stand rather than cram into the tighter spaces that remain. Three average-sized people fit okay onto these longer benches, but drop a linebacker anywhere and the whole seating etiquette goes to hell.
