The morning commute

I write this morning from a Chicago Metra train bound for downtown. They announced a few moments ago that we’re one car short. They are packed in like sardines. For once it pays to live at the end of the line.

Ten days ago I had an interesting experience with Metra. I was late arriving for the morning train (no surprise) and made the mad dash, getting on the closest car. Once I settled in, I grabbed my headphones and …nothing! My mp3 player was not where it should have been. I quick self-examination just short of full cavity search revealed nothing. I asked the conductor to keep an eye out. I called the station and told the ticket agent where my car was in case it was on the ground. Finally I called home to see if it was sitting in the driveway.

While talking to my wife, my phone beeped in another call. I flashed over and talked to the ticket agent I had spoken with just minutes before. He said he saw nothing on the ground but did see a small grey case on the front seat. Relieved is not the right word to describe how I felt.

I know many people who serve the public get a bad rap for poor customer service but I have never found this to be true. From the gentleman who went out of his way to look for my mp3 player to the conductor who never says a word when I’m the last one on the 6 PM train, they are all professionals.