The Train is Departing Please Stand Clear

It was a pretty crowded train and most of the seats were full, so an anxious-looking guy ended up on the seat right across from me.

Ordinarily, this is when I adopt "the light-rail stare," which focuses on an unseen object in the middle distance, where one lets on to be meditating on events too personal or important to discuss with strangers.

It is possible to ride for miles without making eye contact, if that's what you want to do.

However the gentleman was having none of that. He looked deep into my eyes and smiled, breaching my illusion of personal space as if it were nothing but an abstraction.

"You ain't got no black jacket, do you? All these people with black jackets on, they don't know what they're doin'."

I had to agree, but also to admit that I didn't know what they were doin' either.

It all boiled down to his personal interpretation of scripture, to the effect that only the Angel Gabriel is entitled to wear the black jacket, in fact, it's his duty, as harbinger of doom.

He then went on to imply that agents of the "other side" might wear black jackets in hopes of confounding humanity.

Obviously, I knew the black jacket stood for something, but I didn't know it went that far.

I expressed amused disbelief, then got off the train.

The light rail isn't always so entertaining, but it is a healthy and inexpensive way to interact with your fellow human beings, while getting where you need to go.

At this point, a ninth-grader could prove, by facts and figures, that pleasure driving is immoral, and that commuting to work in a car is a threat to national security. That's another great reason to ride the rail.

I'm not the first to note that the habit of traveling to and fro while locked into an isolated world of artificial comfort has contributed to the national decline of civility. You can't help but dislike people whose least mistake could end your life, and whom you encounter only through tinted windows while passing.

On the other hand, traveling through the city in a railcar with a random hodge-podge of businesspeople, state employees, students, parents with kids, and fringe elements can't help but give a person more respect for others.

You can stare into the void, or you can find things to talk about. There's a choice.

If only through common suffering, bonds are made which strengthen the community. You think I'm kidding? People may be a little shy at times, but they're also considerate and polite when necessary.

Folks will not only line up calmly to board the train, I have seen people get up and offer their seats to others on crowded trains.

In cars, the best that you can do is hope not to get fingered by hostile forces closing in on all sides. A drive through rush-hour traffic is nothing less than a fight for your life. You must not only rely on your own sound judgment to guide yourself through a series of rapidly-developing crises, you must hope for good judgment from others.

People die horrible deaths every day in cars, and it's necessary to go to war in order to keep them on the road.

Your odds of avoiding fatal misfortune on the way to school are much improved on the light rail.

You get to stretch out, read the paper, and practice the exquisite etiquette of the mass traveler. Knowing when to make eye contact and when to shift a little to the left in your seat are the kind of skills which make society stronger.

When's the last time you heard anything about "light-rail rage?" It doesn't happen. The chemistry is not there because everyone is so pleased not to be walking home from work.

You may have to sit next to someone with whom you appear to have little in common. But, given the chance, you will probably find something of mutual interest, even if it's nothing more than raised eyebrows or a stifled laugh at someone so unexpectedly genuine you're momentarily taken off guard

.

That's when you're finally getting to know each other.

Sometimes, when I exit at the 29th street station, I can hear the rending cries of traffic overhead on the freeway. Other times, Interstate 80 is at a standstill and the cars are neatly lined up wondering what the trouble is.

Once in a while the howl of braking tires or the eerie whine of a siren can be heard.

But none of that applies on the light rail. I get off a few blocks from home and head down the sidewalk. Always careful, of course, to watch out for that guy in the black jacket, running the red light.