A Legend is Hatched! I Go On a Train Journey!

Naturally, I planned to solve some mysteries during my train travel!

A madcap romp. A caviar dispatch. A nuisance in the lobby. Sophisticated boom-boom. A cult and occult favorite. Falbalas et Fanfreluches. In Technicolor. With special guest appearances by an illustrious cat. Or an over-privileged and under-boundaried person's quest for fame and the assuaging of her own ego.  Read past editions here.

In my seventh grade English class, I wrote a paper about how I was the reincarnation of Carole Lombard. While the actual topic the paper was supposed to be about—presumably a book—has been lost to time, this does explain why I decided to develop a fear of small planes.

To this day, I do not like small planes and try to avoid them. Luckily, I mostly fly trans-Atlantic, as I refuse to go west until Hollywood stops pretending to not know who I think I am. However, I recently had to go to Chicago.

It began to occur to me that the plane to Chicago might be small when I boarded and didn’t see a private suite and could not find my complimentary slippers. As the plane took off, I set about trying to distract myself. I was going to Chicago for a wedding, so I concentrated on reading my 900 page book about the Nazi invasion of Romania and Greece. Yet, I still found myself to be very anxious—and still could not find my complimentary slippers.

After landing in Chicago, my thoughts naturally turned towards the return journey and if I would, again, be forced to fly on a small plane. The airline representative was not at all helpful when I inquired if my return flight would be on a proper plane—one with multiple stories, a cocktail bar, and complimentary slippers. I continued to be quite anxious. Luckily, fate intervened with 72 hours’ worth of thunderstorms all over New York state, which delayed or canceled all flights into NYC.

And that is how I decided to take the train from Chicago to New York!

I find trains soothing because I was born during September—an important month in European history—and because I have a recessive mid-Atlantic accent. As a Jew and as an un-recruited spy, I have, of course, traveled from France over the Alps and into Switzerland by train; and across Siberia into Moscow on the Siberian Express. But this would be my first long train journey in the United States.  I did not have time to prepare a proper train journey outfit, but, luckily, I always travel with at least one hat. And, given that I was coming from a wedding, I had plenty of bobby pins in my hair.

I reached the Chicago train station after nightfall and found it strangely deserted. I did not bother to stop at the train station’s cocktail bar, which I can only assume they had, since my train was leaving in a few minutes and since I was not wearing a trench coat.

Naturally, I planned to solve some mysteries during my train travel, and the first thing I solved was successfully locating my train.

I arrived at my compartment to find that the room number had been scratched out and replaced with a different number. A plot was afoot! Things were even stranger inside the compartment. Where were the silks and velvets in jewel tones? What was this strange stain on the seat cushion?

I stuck my head out into the hallway but did not hear the strains of a Vera Lynn recording floating down the corridor.  Back inside my compartment, there was still not a decanter nor carafe in sight. And, once again, I could not find the complimentary slippers.

I called the porter to ask for a pair of slippers. He said there weren’t any. I told him this would be difficult for me, since there are two types of people: those who can make an entrance on a giant chandelier and those who can’t, and I was the former.  He said there weren’t any chandeliers on the train, so I explained that was just one of my classic bon mots that I use to explain myself more clearly. Bon mots is French for bon mots. It doesn’t translate, which is also something many English speakers say about my jokes; to which I say, “oui.”

My doctor had given me some Xanax for a purpose that was not this, so I decided to take one and go to sleep. As I did not have silk pajamas with me, I was forced to sleep in my clothing.

I woke up when something started stabbing me in the head. I sat up with a start and was horrified to see my pillow seemed to have a face on it. Had someone snuck into my compartment and attempted to harm me? Did this train have a ghost? Such excitement! I then realized that I had forgotten to take my hair down and wash my face.

I looked out the window to a cloudy and grey sky full of foreboding that could only be described as a sky that was cloudy and grey and full of foreboding. A great day for me to solve a mystery on the train! But first, I would need breakfast.

Despite much evidence to the contrary, I am capable of pragmatism, and after still not locating the decanter in my compartment, I gave up on the idea that I would find caviar and caviar spoons in the dining room. So I entered the dining car fully prepared to eat my caviar with potato chips. However, there were no potato chips. Or any potato products.

I went back to my room without breakfast. It was then that there was a knock at my door. No doubt it was someone coming to ask me to help solve a mystery. As it turned out, it was the porter coming to tell me that we were about to arrive in Syracuse and, once we got to the station, I should feel free to get off the train and “stretch my legs.”

This seemed slightly unusual to me, but the porter assured me that everything would be fine and I should most definitely get off the train. I asked him if it was okay to leave my suitcase in my compartment and he said absolutely and that he would be watching the compartment the entire time. During this exchange I sounded exactly like Lauren Bacall, so I felt reassured of the outcome.

I got off the train. After all, what could possible go wrong.

As I still had not had breakfast, I figured I would go into the station and see what my options were. Although, the Syracuse station did not have a caviar shop, they did have vending machines. I was confident that I could successfully operate a vending machine. And after seven tries, I succeeded.

I went back to the platform and while the train was still there, the porter had disappeared. Had he actually been a ghost?

Mysteriously, all of the doors to the train seemed to be closed. And although these days I seldom open my own doors—I have much more experience with doors being shut—after multiple attempts to open the train door, I felt fairly certain that the door was locked. I was beginning to worry.

I spotted two conductors at the other end of the platform, but much like all of Hollywood, the conductors ignored my cries for attention.

The train slowly pulled out of the station and, while my luggage was on the train, I was still on the platform. I contemplated running after it, but I was not sure what I would do once I caught it. After all, having had no luck getting the doors to open while they were stationary, was I likely to have more luck when they were in motion? And were I to ride atop the train like a hobo, did I still remember the words to the hobo skit from the Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour with guest star Red Skelton? Also, as a devotee of the sedentary lifestyle I only run when it’s to get away from my enemies, but even then, I prefer to just try and hide behind a tree or large potted plant.

I went back inside the station and found a representative from the train company. I explained to her what had happened. She said, “You should never get off the train.” I said, “Then why was I told to get off the train?” We both agreed that was an excellent question.

The representative said that she could put me on the next train to New York. Unfortunately, the next train was not for another three hours. So I would be spending the morning in Syracuse, New York home of the Eerie Canal Museum. Well, I am a regular de Tocqueville.

I decided I would use my time to explore the sights of Syracuse. But after taking a stroll around the train station parking lot, I decided that it was perhaps best for me to stay put. As I sat on the train station bench, I thought that although I had always been steadfast in my belief that there were no bad I Love Lucy episodes, this one might have changed my mind.

It occurred to me that I could use the time to do something constructive like work on my screenplay, but I was still hungry and did not have the energy for another battle with the vending machine.

Plus, there was still the matter of my suitcase. I, once again, found the train company representative and asked her how my suitcase would be returned to me. Apparently, when the train that abandoned me reached Albany, my suitcase would be left for me in the station. The representative said, “In Albany, get off the train to get your suitcase.” I said, “Okay.” Then I paused and said, “So I get off the train?” And she said, “Yes, you get off the train in Albany.”  I said, “Isn’t me getting off the train what caused this whole situation?” And she said, “Right, you stay on the train.” This is when it occurred to me that we’d somehow jumped genres and were now in an Aaron Sorkin series. I figured I’d better sit down.

Eventually, the train to New York appeared and in Albany my suitcase was brought to me on the train, which I stayed on. However, despite spending many hours on the train and in train stations, I feel like I have not had a full train experience as I have yet to solve a mystery. Or receive a pair of complimentary slippers.

Bon voyage,

Victoria

Footnotes

I did write a paper for seventh grade English class about how I was the reincarnation of Carole Lombard. I have no idea what the actual assignment was, but I can confidently say it was not that.

The book I was reading was The Balkan Trilogy by Olivia Manning.

I have been on the Siberian Express. I wore a hat.

Vera Lynn was a British singer who was very popular during WW2. And among fans of British period dramas.

Lauren Bacall (and her wardrobe) is the best part of the film version of Murder on the Orient Express.

Vending machines now take credit cards!

During an episode of The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour, Lucy and Red Skelton, dressed as hobos, perform a number called “Poor Us,” which involves a song and a “Freddie the Freeloader” skit. In the fifth grade, I taught myself the entire number.  

There are no bad I Love Lucy episodes.

This all really happened.