You have WHAT in your suitcase?

Hitched an Amtrak to Lalaland for the weekend to visit the kidlets.

I am fascinated by the train!

You don’t have to submit to those annoying body cavity searches they specialize in at the airport, 

AND you can transport an ENTIRE suitcase full of kitchen knives and other various cooking weapons and nobody even bats an eye. (Been there, done that) 

Don’t be judgin’, my girlies needed some cooking junk.....

Never thought what would have happened if they decided to frisk me.

“Yes, Mr. Conductor, I understand the damage that a 5 pound meat tenderizer mallet could do to a human skull.”

‘BUT, I wasn’t planning to use it on anyone, especially you sir.”

“Now my big wooden rollin’ pin, THAT may be another story entirely.”

“What do mean I need to exit the train immediately?”

“You have no sense of humor at all!”

So I purchase my ticket, find my comfy forward-facing seat and immediately tune in to the various and bizarre conversations that are taking place around me.

A well dressed, middle-aged gal in front of me was discussing the details of a funeral she was traveling to attend.  This wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary except for when I heard the sentence. “Well, who is going to pay for the freezer?”

Now I am no stranger to bizarre circumstances but in my mind the words “body” and “freezer” do not belong in the same sentence. 

Except maybe if you are Walt Disney.

I perked up my ears at this interesting tidbit but was distracted by the couple behind me who apparently were in the middle of an argument.

Him: “What’s wrong?”

Her:  “Nothing!” (FYI guys, this a universal red flag answer and you should immediately get up and scurry away.)

Him:  “I know something is wrong, just tell me what it is.”

Her:  “No, I said I’m fine.” 

This plodding repetitive dialogue continued what seemed like forever until I saw myself whipping around and screaming,

“For the love of everything that is holy, are you guys four years old?!”

“IF you are mad, TELL HIM WHAT IS BOTHERING YOU!”

“AND, IF SHE WON’T TELL YOU WHAT IS WRONG, LEAVE HER ALONE AND WORK ON YOUR COMPUTER!”

“I can tell by the look on her pinched little face that you are on her last nerve and we still have a 2 hour joy ride ahead of us!”

“Even if you bought her a Pandora bracelet with a tiny train charm to "remember this special day", she would still wanna bust your chops, so just give it up!”

P.S. I hope you’re not married.

To distract myself from this ridiculous babble, I fished out my IPod, plugged in my earbuds and laid out the breakfast I brought from home.

I noticed out of the corner of my eye a young college dude who kept glancing back at me the entire time I was eating.

Now one glance is no biggy. 

Two glances may mean he is looking for the closest restroom.

But three glances falls into the “what are you lookin’ at?” category.

Yes, I’m eating a Jimmy Dean egg,sausage and cheese biscuit and a big bag of Lays BBQ potato chips for breakfast! 

Is that a problem?

What are you, my cardiologist?

You’re lucky I’m not washing it down with a Margarita!

Sensing  my contempt for his judgmental stare, he turned his fauxhawk head around, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Years ago, I used to ride the train quite often when I would go visit my daughter who was away at college.

On one of these excursions, I was in the same car with a Dad and his two daughters who looked to be about 7 and 9 years old.

As he knew this would be a long train ride, he brought what he figured would amuse his little tikes for the length of their journey.

This was a wiffle ball.

Of course, anyone with two brain cells to rub together would know that this would be an EXCELLENT babysitting tool for a couple of children in a CLOSED train car.

A ball.

Which of course, they would throw.

And roll.

Down the aisles.

Over and over.

Mile after mile.

Under peoples feet.

Over their heads.

And, of course, he would join in this squealing, raucous game to show what a good Dad he was.

We hated him.

And the ball.

And after about 10 minutes, the little girls too.

We couldn’t help it.

They asked for it.

Eventually the entire band of passengers would have turned on them like the Donner Party on a can of Spam until they made one errant throw.....

And magically the ball disappeared....

He stood and announced, “has anyone seen a purple wiffle ball about this big?”(making a circle with his meaty mitts)

crickets......

“It belongs to my little girls.”

crickets.......

Really buddy, we didn't know you guys had a ball?????

What a shocking revelation!!!!!

I’m sure whoever was sittin’ on that frickin’ ball was hoping it didn’t have a squeaker.

Ultimately, he gave up his futile search and force fed them Skittles until they fell into a sugar coma.

When they got off the train, a rousing cheer rose from the masses.

We were not sorry to see them go.

As for the present trip, I never unraveled the mystery of the body in the freezer,

the angry lady was “fine” through the entire journey AND I scarfed down every last one of my chips and didn’t even offer ONE to Mr. Fauxhawk.

Aaaa, the train.

Nothing like it.
I love it.

Now, what DID I ever do with that wiffle ball?

…......I’m just sayin’