Spunky Old Broads

Spunky Old Broads

         Years ago, our commuter rail service had the old nineteen-forties style rail cars and one car in every train was always designated a smoker.  I no longer smoked at that time, but if I wanted a seat, there were always seats available in that car.  For anyone who has ridden in one these old cars you know about the ride, sometimes the ride is smooth, other times it can be bone jarring and it’s always noisy.  These are the cars you see in the old movies; they have a small foyer at each end with steel floor panels that can be raised to expose stairs lead down to ground level, for those rural stations that didn’t have a raised platform.

         On this particular Friday evening the train was abnormally over crowed, so I slipped into the back of the smoker and found a seat.  The floor of the car is covered with industrial grade linoleum; the bench seats are covered with vinyl, three wide to one side and two wide to the other.  Years ago, some interior designer had the idea of brightening the cars up and covered the walls with burgundy red carpeting and covering the seats in red and white vinyl.  Now it looks its age, everything is worn, some of the carpet is hanging or missing entirely, the floor is filthy with cigarette butts and the white ceiling is stained tan or brown with nicotine. 

         So all of these blue and white collar workers, business suits to dungarees, sit talking or reading their papers, rocking with the ride and smoking; ten minutes into the ride the smoke in the car is like a London fog. 

         The sliding pocket door opens, the annoying screech and clatter of metal on metal, wheels on rail becomes louder and fills the car.  An old woman in a print dress and heavy attaché case pushes her way in.  She is slight of build, white hair, lined face with delicate thin-framed glasses perched on the bridge of her dainty nose. 

         She stands there for a second holding the door open, looking around for a seat.  She lets go the door which slams shut, takes a few steps forward and stands beside a young man in a business suite and starts to rock side to side with the motion of the car.  Her hips hitting him in the shoulder on every rock, he looks up at her.

         “I’m sorry young man, I have a problem with my hip. I can’t stand for too long.”  He puts his head down in his paper and she continues to butt his shoulder, “Young man can you see any empty seats?”

         Annoyed, the guy gathers his belongings and gets up offering his seat.  “Oh thank you so much!”  When she sat down, I saw her reach into her purse and pull out a small three-ounce sampler bottle of white wine, she upended it about three times, draining it.

         All is well for about five minutes when she looks around again and exclaims loudly in a hoarse voice,  “Why is everyone smoking, I have asthma, smoking is bad for my health.” She was generally ignored except for a few giggles and open laughter. 

         This is the only smoking car on the train and these passengers are not giving up their pleasures for anyone.  Waiting a few minutes, then said loudly, “Will everyone stop smoking!”  She removed a bottle of water from her bag and wet a handkerchief; she held it to her face like a gas mask.

         At this point the conductor came through taking tickets.  She was sitting, handkerchief to her face when the conductor stopped beside her. 

         “Ticket?”

         She looked up at him as if daggers were to come out of her eyes.  “They won’t stop smoking!” She said emphatically.

         His expression didn’t change; he was still holding his hand out toward her. “Ticket Please!”

         “I suffer from Asthma and the smoke is bad for me!” 

         “I’m sorry you have problems lady!  Do you have a ticket?”

         “Yes I have a ticket, but why should I pay for a ride that is making me sick?”

         One of the men behind her called out. “Then get a seat in another car!”  Another said, “You knew it was the smoker, why did you even come in here?”

         “Ticket!” 

         Still holding the now brown stained cloth to her mouth she said in a muffled voice, “Young man, you find me a seat in another car and I will gladly show you my ticket.”

         So shaking his head he moved on toward the front of the car, collecting tickets at every row.  She added water to the cloth and reapplied it to her face.  Her comments and complaints did not subside and the men behind her had never ending retorts and insults.

         The gem that broke me up was her holding the handkerchief up, waving it like a flag with the brown stain exclaiming, “Look!  Look what you people are putting in your lunges!”  The guy behind her, who had been quietly reading his paper the whole time stood and said, “Listen!  Listen, none of us give a shit!”

         Thirty minutes pass, I watched her empty three more samplers before we stopped at the first of many stations.  The conductor came back.  “If you will follow me ma'am!”

         The old lady got up and followed the conductor toward the front of the train; she must have “accidentally” dinged four men in the head with her attaché case as she went, a broad grin on her face. 

W.C. =  928