The train trip home was semi-reasonable. Actually, we were only an hour forty-five minutes late because of a stop in Jersey due to a medical emergency (not mine) and also a disabled train in front of us.
When I booked our return, this train had only “Roomettes” available and they were cheaper than regular seating. The Silver Meteor was on its way to Miami and they try to fill every seat. The rooms measure 3’6” deep and 6.8’ long, has two seats, a table, a toilet (also used as a side table (puk, barf, vomit) and a pull out sink. The only other toilets available are in Coach so you must walk through three cars as they hurtle down the tracks and you have no balance due to an injured hip.
I don’t care how long you are married, trying to use a toilet where your hips are kissing the side door, in a cubby with your husband balancing two suitcases on his lap and trying to look out the window at Jersey graffiti is something I will never ever again do.
And, a perk, the seats turned into sleeping bunks for those traveling to distant locations on the rings of Saturn.
What Amtrak doesn’t mention, is unless you are booked through to Miami, they won’t check your luggage. You have to store it in your 3’x6’.8” cubby. No shelving, no overhead storage (that’s where the second bed is located), no hooks or loops or hangers or secret closets.
With two suitcases, one suit carrier and my purse stuffed on top of the toilet and the sink I was losing my sense of humor. Both seats face each other so legroom was non-existent. For me, my feet barely touch the floor, for Jerry it was a trial.
I would bore you with the side issues of living in that space for 6 hours, suffice to say I will never to it again.
When I entered the house it was quite, Catholic Church, High Mass, funeral quiet. I walked around looking in each room and turning on lamps all the while chanting, “Hello house, are you glad to see me? I’m happy to be home.”
My first important stop was the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As I’m chanting “are you glad…” I opened the cupboard for a coffee cup and a glass cup exploded. Exploded! I froze as glass sprayed over me, the counter top and in my hair.
I had to take a photo so you would believe this. Am not sure if it was my poor chanting voice or the fact that my house preferred the absence of my spirit.
Jerry immediately assumed I had been the cause of the noise and really, I was so tired I didn’t care. My only hesitation was that the House was speaking to me. At that point, two fingers of single malt was a better option than hot coffee.
And it was soooo relaxing.