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Published On: Aug 23, 2006 11:46 PM
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Published On: Aug 23, 2006 11:46 PM
Track Marks
So yesterday, as I continued my perusal of the
United Kingdom as part of Asatour 2006, I found myself on a train, heading from
Newton Abbot to Penzance. I was looking for Pirates. This was going to be a
simple day trip; a turn-and-burn. Ride the train to Penzance, visit St.
Michael's Mount, look for pirates, eat a pasty, and come
back.
We hadn't gone very far at all; the train had probably been underway for all of 45 minutes or so, when we began to slow down. I assumed we were pulling into the next stop at Plymouth, but apparently not, as the train came to a complete halt with no station in sight.
We sat there for an hour and a half, maybe more; I don't even own a watch anymore, and I wasn't carrying my alarm clock, as I had no intentions of sleeping. Over the course of that time, a few announcements were made, in the following sequence:
1. An incident has occurred at Plymouth station, and we have been told to wait here.
(At this point I'm sure I wasn't the only one trying to figure out what possible interest Plymouth train station could hold for terrorists.)
2. A serious incident has occurred, and we must stand here until told it's safe to proceed.
(I noticed they weren't saying it was at the station this time, and began to wonder if a car had been hit by a train. British television is full of commercials warning people to be careful at level crossings. I was still entertaining terrorist scenarios in my head, and beginning to wonder which other passenger should be eaten first. Probably the annoying brunette teenybopper who was shrieking and pounding on her boyfriend to give her back her cell phone.)
3. An accident with a possible fatality has happened a half-mile ahead, and we have to wait, possibly for another hour.
(I was now feeling terribly sorry for the poor people in the car that must have been hit by a train, and was charitably thinking that my plans weren't really all that important. I decided that I probably wasn't going to make it to Penzance, and if we made it to Plymouth without me being either arrested for cannibalism or eaten by another passenger, then I would just head back to Newton Abbot and try again the next day.)
4. A death had occurred. We would be underway very slowly in as little as 10 minutes, but we would have to stop and pick up the crew from the previous train, which had apparently been involved.
Well, that didn't happen either. We did get underway, but we didn't stop to pick anyone up (and that statement didn't really make sense anyway). When we got to Plymouth, I decided I'd better eat, since the brunette hadn't been very meaty, and headed to a cafe, still feeling sad about the tragic accident. I got a pasty, a sandwich, two bags of chips, a coke and a Mars bar. I explained to the nice lady at the cafe counter that I was starving, as I'd been stuck on one of the trains. "Oh," she said. "Yes, it's very sad. They must have been very desperate and very sad."
It was, apparently, a suicide. Not an accident at all. And suddenly I wasn't feeling so charitable anymore.
I don't understand suicide; I don't think I ever have. I tried. When I would get depressed in college, I would sit down and try to write a suicide note. Then I'd wait five minutes, read it out loud, and laugh at myself because it already seemed stupid.
On the other hand, I have no real issue with someone who chooses to end their own life. Who am I to judge them or their actions? Just because it isn't right for me... Etc. I don't care if people that I don't know decide to kill themselves.
But at least be fucking considerate about it!
Really. If you're going to kill yourself, why inconvenience a whole bunch of innocent travelers by throwing yourself in front of a train? It's just rude. There are all sorts of private things you can do that aren't going to affect hundreds of other people.
Or maybe that's the point? I dunno. Like I said, I've never understood suicide. The Havamal has all sorts of things to say about how a living man is better than a dead one any day. I agree, but I'm not going to try to force other people to accept that.
But if you're my friend, and you're going to do this, don't. I'll find a way to haunt you in your grave mound. Don't think I won't.
So, goodbye from Cornwall; my next entry should be from London! Ya'll take care.
We hadn't gone very far at all; the train had probably been underway for all of 45 minutes or so, when we began to slow down. I assumed we were pulling into the next stop at Plymouth, but apparently not, as the train came to a complete halt with no station in sight.
We sat there for an hour and a half, maybe more; I don't even own a watch anymore, and I wasn't carrying my alarm clock, as I had no intentions of sleeping. Over the course of that time, a few announcements were made, in the following sequence:
1. An incident has occurred at Plymouth station, and we have been told to wait here.
(At this point I'm sure I wasn't the only one trying to figure out what possible interest Plymouth train station could hold for terrorists.)
2. A serious incident has occurred, and we must stand here until told it's safe to proceed.
(I noticed they weren't saying it was at the station this time, and began to wonder if a car had been hit by a train. British television is full of commercials warning people to be careful at level crossings. I was still entertaining terrorist scenarios in my head, and beginning to wonder which other passenger should be eaten first. Probably the annoying brunette teenybopper who was shrieking and pounding on her boyfriend to give her back her cell phone.)
3. An accident with a possible fatality has happened a half-mile ahead, and we have to wait, possibly for another hour.
(I was now feeling terribly sorry for the poor people in the car that must have been hit by a train, and was charitably thinking that my plans weren't really all that important. I decided that I probably wasn't going to make it to Penzance, and if we made it to Plymouth without me being either arrested for cannibalism or eaten by another passenger, then I would just head back to Newton Abbot and try again the next day.)
4. A death had occurred. We would be underway very slowly in as little as 10 minutes, but we would have to stop and pick up the crew from the previous train, which had apparently been involved.
Well, that didn't happen either. We did get underway, but we didn't stop to pick anyone up (and that statement didn't really make sense anyway). When we got to Plymouth, I decided I'd better eat, since the brunette hadn't been very meaty, and headed to a cafe, still feeling sad about the tragic accident. I got a pasty, a sandwich, two bags of chips, a coke and a Mars bar. I explained to the nice lady at the cafe counter that I was starving, as I'd been stuck on one of the trains. "Oh," she said. "Yes, it's very sad. They must have been very desperate and very sad."
It was, apparently, a suicide. Not an accident at all. And suddenly I wasn't feeling so charitable anymore.
I don't understand suicide; I don't think I ever have. I tried. When I would get depressed in college, I would sit down and try to write a suicide note. Then I'd wait five minutes, read it out loud, and laugh at myself because it already seemed stupid.
On the other hand, I have no real issue with someone who chooses to end their own life. Who am I to judge them or their actions? Just because it isn't right for me... Etc. I don't care if people that I don't know decide to kill themselves.
But at least be fucking considerate about it!
Really. If you're going to kill yourself, why inconvenience a whole bunch of innocent travelers by throwing yourself in front of a train? It's just rude. There are all sorts of private things you can do that aren't going to affect hundreds of other people.
Or maybe that's the point? I dunno. Like I said, I've never understood suicide. The Havamal has all sorts of things to say about how a living man is better than a dead one any day. I agree, but I'm not going to try to force other people to accept that.
But if you're my friend, and you're going to do this, don't. I'll find a way to haunt you in your grave mound. Don't think I won't.
So, goodbye from Cornwall; my next entry should be from London! Ya'll take care.
Posted: Wed - August 23, 2006 at 11:46 PM |
