Each day those of us who commute by train to the nation's capital are given several repeated, important announcements by those operating the train, most of which are promptly ignored. These announcements range from admonitions to read the safety instructions in the seat pocket in front of us to instructions on where and where not to stand in the train if we have to stand (in the middle of the car -- OK; blocking the stairways or doorways -- not OK; on another passenger's lap -- ask first).
But once in a while an announcement is made that commands our attention. These are usually related to some reason the train is not moving when it should be moving. We all strain to listen to these announcements, and not just because we want to know why we are stopped and when we can expect to become unstopped. It is also because the loudness of any message is directly proportional to its importance: When the conductor is intoning about the necessity of reading the safety instructions, his or her voice is clearly audible. When we have not moved for the last hour or so, and a voice comes on to provide an eagerly anticipated explanation, the voice appears to come from another train over in, say, Vladivostok, and sounds as if it is being carried to us by tin can.
Once in a while there is an enlightening announcement concerning proper etiquette in the Quiet Car. The Quiet Car is a designated car on the train particularly for passengers who could cheerfully pass their travel time without learning that, for instance, the sister of the person behind them is embroiled in a love triangle, or what is being served at the funeral dinner for the father of the person sitting next to them.
I once was unwillingly privy to an entire conversation about how far particular funeral attendees were or were not likely to travel in order to, as the speaker behind me kept saying, "eat some fried chicken." I gathered that the person on the other end of the phone felt strongly that the attendees would drive a great distance to eat HER fried chicken.
But back to the conductors' announcements. Here are some noteworthy examples:
"Our first car today is our Quiet Car. No cell phone conversations should take place in this car, no electronics making loud noises, and no loud talking in this car, please. Your conversation is to be a whisper." There is a great deal of emphasis on "whisper."
Apparently people in the afternoon Quiet Car have been whispering too loudly, for now we have been admonished the following:
"The last car today is the world-renowned Quiet Car...We prefer that you do not talk in the Quiet Car, but if you DO talk in the Quiet Car, we ask that you please talk silently."
Next thing we know, the Quiet Car will become the Silent Car ("Ladies and gentlemen, please refrain from breathing while traveling in the Silent Car. If you are heard breathing you will have to move to another car").
Occasionally I hear the announcement of stops for an Amtrak train at Union Station, which one particular day proceeded like this:
"This train stops in Alexandria, Richmond, Lynchburg, uh -- what IS this? I have no idea what that says -- Newport News, Norfolk..."
Just as I am typing this, there has been an important announcement of something on my afternoon train. By the barely audible voice I could tell that this was important, and I strained to listen.
"Starting tomorrow, there will be some changes on this train," the conductor said, in a voice that indicated plainly that we were all in trouble for some infraction -- perhaps for not talking silently enough? -- and punishment would be delayed a day. "One thing we will NOT do," the voice said sternly, "is --"
But here the already lowered voice almost completely died away, leaving us with no idea of what is going to happen to us tomorrow. Stay tuned.
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