Oct. 7
WHERE I AM: Union Station in Denver. The adventure is about to begin. A man is singing. His voice echoes around the hall and seems to quiet the crowd of people anxiously awaiting a train two hours late.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Packed my bags. Got the song “I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll come back again” stuck in my head. But I changed the words: “I’m leaving on a big train…”
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Lots of water, which may be a mistake come midnight tonight on the train.
WHERE I’M GOING TOMORROW: Through Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois. I’ll hit Chicago in time to see the skyline at night.
I couldn’t give him what he needed. My identification? No. My tickets? No. A little sass? No. Amtrak ticket agent Harold McDowell wanted $20.
Um, no, I said.
Why not? he asked.
Um, because.
We bantered. Then McDowell found out I was writing a blog.
“Tell your blog people to send me $20,” he said.
No, wait, I should phrase it intelligently, make him credible: “Say, ‘Harold is slightly destitute and may be in need of a little remuneration.’ Yeah, use that word, remuneration. That sounds good.”
He accented it to bring out the money sound: ReMUNeration.
So, Harold McDowell, here you are. You asked for it.
Everybody, Amtrak agent Harold McDowell, in Denver, is slightly destitute and may be in need of a little ReMUNeration. Twenty dollar bills only, please.
WHERE I AM: Union Station in Denver. The adventure is about to begin. A man is singing. His voice echoes around the hall and seems to quiet the crowd of people anxiously awaiting a train two hours late.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Packed my bags. Got the song “I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll come back again” stuck in my head. But I changed the words: “I’m leaving on a big train…”
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Lots of water, which may be a mistake come midnight tonight on the train.
WHERE I’M GOING TOMORROW: Through Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois. I’ll hit Chicago in time to see the skyline at night.
I couldn’t give him what he needed. My identification? No. My tickets? No. A little sass? No. Amtrak ticket agent Harold McDowell wanted $20.
Um, no, I said.
Why not? he asked.
Um, because.
We bantered. Then McDowell found out I was writing a blog.
“Tell your blog people to send me $20,” he said.
No, wait, I should phrase it intelligently, make him credible: “Say, ‘Harold is slightly destitute and may be in need of a little remuneration.’ Yeah, use that word, remuneration. That sounds good.”
He accented it to bring out the money sound: ReMUNeration.
So, Harold McDowell, here you are. You asked for it.
Everybody, Amtrak agent Harold McDowell, in Denver, is slightly destitute and may be in need of a little ReMUNeration. Twenty dollar bills only, please.
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