When you mix honesty with a bit of randomness with a little venting and a dose of imagination, you get the Bart Chronicle. I write what I see and feel and most importantly, what inspires me. All from my hour long trip on Bart.
The operator says, in a stern voice over the train intercom, "Please do not hold the door open. We can't move until this door closes." I'm thinking, "Which door is it? How is one door in a nine car train not able to close correctly?"
It's okay, I don't have a life, I don't need to get home and sleep. It's okay that the station we stopped at has no reception and my Pandora lost connection. It's okay that it's a million degrees in here and I can't remove my sweater unless I want to get to second base with the lady next to me.
"I'll be right back" the operator says. "It shouldn't take long." As she slithers through the train like a cobra hunting it's prey, I smell a sent, odor really. It's like Uncle Juan after Thanksgiving dinner. "Who the hell farted," I yell in my head. Was it you wannabe college students or was it you Toby McGuire look-a-like? No maybe it was grandma who coincidentally fell asleep. Bart may never know.
I have enough space to glance at my phone. It's only been five minutes! It feels like it's been an hour. Finally, ten minutes later, she is back. Our superhero. Our savior. And I didn't get her name. God bless you random train operator lady. Without you, I would have to maneuver the train myself, imagine that. Till the next time we meet.
You Live Here Bro?
Do you live in the actual Bart train? I didn't think so. Yet, you clip your nails like your own nail salon with your body inked up so much I can't see your original color. Maybe you're a dentist the way you vigorously pick your teeth with your nails. It could very well be this four foot by two foot seat is indeed your living room. It also has your Carl's Jr. right by your feet. Maybe it's your dinning room also? But who am I kidding. Bart is my bed.