Amtrak has improved its service since I last rode the rails, and you no longer fear that the lavatories will be occupied by giant hissing Madagascar cockroaches that climbed up the pipes the last time the train slowed down. The food’s good, and the service is cheerful — unlike the servers of old, who might as well have begun the meal by announcing “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a virtual guarantee of lifetime employment, and as you might expect that’s going to affect my interest in prompt and friendly service. Affect it severely. Now you’re all going to have the lasagna. It was made during the Carter era. The only thing older than the lasagna is the beer. And it’s also warmer.”
No, Amtrak is in good shape. The cars have been rebuilt, the blankets no longer draw blood when they come in contact with human skin, the tracks are smoother, and the Pit of Hazy Death — the snack car — is now smoke-free.
That means it’s not packed with throaty-voiced semi-toothed drifters who emit a Pompeii-sized cloud of ash every time they start in on one of those up-from-the-ankles 20-minute hacking fits. And somehow — don’t ask me how — the general aromatic profile of the train is no longer “feet, with a top note of septic tank.” The train actually smelled good. Bravo, Amtrak.
James Lileks, “A windy narrative of a trip to Chicago”, Minneapolis Star-Tribune, 2004-12-19.
January 29, 2024
QotD: Amtrak’s improvements
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