Train Tales, #4 In A Series... Oops, My Mistake!

I took it as a sign of times to come. I had just finished working 16 days in a row, including several 12+ hour days & I boarded the Max Train at Pioneer Courthouse Square, headed home to a week long vacation. The good Lord in Her generosity, had given a perfect Portland afternoon: low 80s, abundant sunshine & low humidity. I was looking forward to returning to Post Apocalyptic Bohemia for a cocktail & a chance to just be myself.

It seemed to be a sign when I was able to snag my favorite seat, even if it meant brushing aside a morbidly obese teen of indecipherable gender, who didn't seem pleased when I excused myself with: " Excuse me, Precious, coming through!" I settled in & took out my current book- True Stories, a memoir by favorite writer- Felice Picano. Then I heard that voice.

She had the timbre, pitch & octave of a white trash Fran Dresher. Except that within seconds, I deduced that she was not all that bright,  but she projected as if she had true theatre training. She was with a buddy. This what I heard as soon as the doors closed & the train started to move:

Tammy: (on her phone) "I need the number for Fred Meyer on North Lombard... no, Lombard. Fuck no, I don't know how to spell it! Just give it to me! Yeah, Lombard. Honey Pie, what is that name again?

Honey Pie: "Vaughn."

Tammy: "How do you spell that?"

Honey Pie: "Fuck, I don't know"

Tammy: " Hello? I need to refill a subscription for Lorazepam. (several seconds pass). Vaughn. No, I don't know hot the fuck to spell it! What the fuck? What do you mean no refills?!? I am in the middle of a fuckin' crisis. Do you know what I mean? I need this refill! My Grandma died & my boyfriend threatened to kill me? You ever have that happen? Fuck! It is Saturday. I can't get a hold of the fuckin' doctor! My life is falling apart, you bitch!

Honey Pie: "Tammy, you can crash with me, baby. "

Tammy: " I need the fuckin' Lorazapam. You have to give it to me! I am having a crisis! Fuck! Lorazapam! Fucker!"

Honey Pie: " Let's try Rite-Aid..."

Tammy & Honey Pie repeat the above dialogue with Rite-Aid.

Tammy: " What the fuck do I have to do to get my Lorazapam?!? I am falling apart here!"

Fellow Passenger: (near by) " What is Lorazapam?"

Tammy: " None of your fuckin' business. This is my private business, You don't need to be listening to my conversation, fucker! This is my life! Are you living my life? Mind your own business, fucker!"

It was all I can do to not say: "Tammy, it is now the business of everyone on the train, We have all heard your sad story. We can't help but to hear you!" I say nothing & keep reading.

Tammy & Honey Pie get off at the often mentioned Lombard stop. My stop- Kenton is next. Compulsive/Obsessive as always, I get up from my seat at the same point as always, just as we pass the Holy Tabernacle Church of Our Lord with it's reader board that reads- "Jesus died for the sins for Stephen the Sodomite of Kenton"

As I prepare to disembark, I stop & chat with the cute hipster couple that were seated in front of Tammy & Honey Pie. Because they had asked Tammy about it, I clued them in:

Stephen: "Lorazepam is a very efficient anti-anxiety drug. I have had a "subscription" given to me by my doctor, the Asian Doogie Howser. I am telling you kids, on Lorazepam I could be gang raped & have dental surgery at the same time  & I wouldn't care a teeny tiny bit. No wonder Tammy & Honey Pie were trying to score a bottle full."

Hipsters: "Why are you telling us this? What are you talking about? Why are you bothering us? What did we do to you?"

Stephen: " You didn't ask Tammy what Lorazepam was? You know... the very verbal crazy woman trying to get a prescription filled?

Hipsters: "What? We have no idea what you are saying. You are scaring us!"

Stephen: "Well. before I get off the train, do you have questions about any pharmaceuticals? That is why I am here. I probably have the answers. I am here for you."

I was hoping the entire past 20 minutes were not portentous of my vacation. When I arrived home, I took Junior for a walk because it was such a nice day & Junior loves an outing. I changed into my jeans & went commando (no underwear) because that is my habit; I am still a hippy at heart. I arrived home from our long doggy journey with extremely chafed inner thighs, because it was hot & I am rather "gifted", I took a shower to wash away my 16 day work-athon, Tammy, Honey Pie, the hipsters & the newly acquired rash.

I reached into the Husband's bathroom drawer & grabbed the ant-itch cream from the spot it always resides. I slathered on the ointment over my inner thigh & my balls not knowing that it was actually arthritis medicine.  I discovered my error soon enough. Within 30 seconds, I was screaming in red hot pain because of the Post Apocalyptic Bohemian Junk's predicament. I dont' recommend this treatment. I kept thinking that at one point, I was actually feeling sorry for Anthony Wiener.

Train Tales #3

 

I enjoy riding the MAX train. The bus always seems to have the odor of diesel, sweat & a slight hint of wet wool, & the MAX train is electrically powered & clean. I find the sound of the train pleasing. There is an on-going fantasy that I live in Westchester County & work in Manhattan, with the wife & kids picking me up at the station, in reality the wife is a husband & the kids are canine & my life is not Mad Men.

Living a life with low grade Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is not for the faint hearted. I feel a driving need to have “my seat” on the MAX: right hand side, very front behind the driver, the only single seat on the train. If I don’t get this spot I can become grouchier than usual. I start my trip in either direction just one stop from the beginning of the line; I stand a good chance of securing my favorite place. 

On a cool, rainy, spring weekday, I boarded the train & found my seat occupied by a hipster. I took a moment to center myself & breath, & then sat close to my favorite place in case it should become vacant.  I was joined in my seat at the next stop by a beautiful African-American woman of an indecipherable age, chic in her hat & gloves. 

With my nose in my book so that I would not have to engage in conversation, this woman dared to ask me: “What is that you are reading?”  I showed her the cover of Just Kids by Patti Smith & prayed that this elegant lady would not ask me to explain Robert Mapplethorpe & Patti Smith.

I have always held that everyone’s story is interesting if you can get them to open up. I told my seat partner how lovely she looked. She introduced herself as Coral.

10 year old Coral moved to Portland, from Texas, with her parents in 1945. They lived in Vanport, at the time, the largest public housing project in the USA. It was home to 40,000 people, mostly African-American, who worked in the Kaiser Shipyards. In a dramatic parallel to Hurricane Katrina & New Orleans, on May 30, 1948, at 4:05pm, a dike holding back the Columbia River collapsed during a flood, killing 15. The city was underwater by nightfall leaving its inhabitants homeless. Like Katrina, the government misled the population into believing that the damage would be slight. Many have attributed the poor response, in both cases, to the racist attitudes of officials, who neglected to respond appropriately to the destruction of a mostly black community. Amazingly, I now live in walking distance of what was once Vanport, now named Delta Park. 

Vanport before & after the flood

Coral spent 4 days searching for her parents. She was eventually reunited with her mother & father at a church shelter in NE Portland's Mississippi neighborhood. They settled in that part of Portland,  still a stubbornly segregated city. 

Coral would eventually graduate from high school & attend beauty college. She found employment at a downtown Portland salon that catered to colored ladies. She worked her way up to manager & when the owner retired in 1965, Coral bought the place & gave it the name- Coral’s House Of Hair.  

Even more impressive in racist Portland of the late 1960s, Coral & The House Of Hair became illustrious enough that she was approached to have her own 15 minute local TV show giving beauty tips to women of color. True Colors Of Beauty aired at 3:15pm, Monday- Thursday on KPTV. The show lasted 5 years. 

I was close to my stop. I told Coral that I had not expected to have such an enchanting & engaging ride into downtown. I gave her my card & offered to buy her lunch sometime. She has yet to take me up on the offer, but on the Max train yesterday, I glanced up from my book & outside of the window, & there was Coral, chic in hat & gloves. She smiled & gave me a wave.