Dear Amtrak,

Thank you very much for yet another overcrowded, unkempt, and inexcusably tardy train-travel experience. I truly enjoyed rushing to Boston Back Bay Station and dashing through the terminal with my breasts flailing about, and arriving at ticketing machines whose so-called “touch screens” seem to interpret “touch” to mean “poke frantically with index finger until metatarsal bone cracks,” only to find after hurtling down the escalator to the platform that the train would not arrive on time. Once finally on the train, waiting interminably for various local trains to pass us also pleased me greatly, as did the fact that, after over two years of threatening, you still have not completed the necessary infrastructure for the high-speed train, primarily because the fourth-grader you hired to design the system failed to take into account the fact that the trains must fit through the existing tunnels, thus necessitating a complete redesign of the new trains and months more of interminable delays in regular service. I love nothing better than sitting motionless on the tracks for nearly an hour so that the northbound train can pass through; I don’t find your decision to rely solely on a single-track route for all of your northeastern service puzzling, irritating, or downright stupid at all, and I want to commend you on not explaining a thing until we threatened to revolt.

Thanks also for failing to clean the train before passengers boarded in Boston. I felt incredibly lucky to find a seat at all, much less one in which the previous occupant had left two days’ worth of candy wrappers and a newspaper with earwax wiped on it.

In closing, I’d like to commend the food-service staff for their brusque attitude and inability to do simple arithmetic in order to make change. After standing in line for nearly forty-five minutes, I sure did work up an appetite for that chicken sandwich – such an appetite, in fact, that I didn’t even mind paying four dollars and fifty cents for a misshapen blob of gristle smeared with rancid mustard. I even found a tendon – neato!

Yours truly,

Sarah D. Bunting

satisfied customer

PS Thank goodness you turned the air conditioning up higher; I almost stopped shivering for a moment there, and we don’t want that, do we?

Dear Man Seated On My Left,

My compliments on today’s contemporary-music clinic. If you hadn’t turned up the sound so high on your mini-disc player, I could never have learned as much as I did about breakbeats, and your decision to beatbox along with the music only added to my knowledge. I also welcomed the opportunity to hear several hours’ worth of smooth jazz selections, because let’s face it, nothing says “relaxing” like overhearing the obnoxious tootling and crooning of the hottest adult-contemporary artists.

Thanks again for sharing,

Sarah

Dear Woman Across The Aisle,

Only one word can describe your performance today: “inspirational.” Never before have I seen such bold self-confidence, such single-mindedness in pursuit of a worthy goal, such forward-thinking willingness to break the rules of a restrictive and narrow-minded society, as I did today. Watching you pick your nose for six straight hours, I felt awed, not just by your attention to detail but by the success you continued to achieve. Every time your fingernail disappeared from view, it reappeared with yet more edible material lodged in it.

I applaud also the gusto with which you consumed the fruits of your labors. The enthusiastic and clearly audible lip-smacking with which you ate your own snot proves that you enjoy the finer things in life. Brava!

Yours disbelievingly,

Sarah

Dear Rug-rat Behind Me,

Thanks again for kicking the seat at random intervals during the trip. I felt a kidney stone coming on as we pulled out of the station, and without your assiduous efforts, it might have lodged there and become troublesome. The irritating thump of your little sneakers on the back of my seat also preventing me from falling prey to a nap which I obviously didn’t deserve.

Well done, kid –

Sarah

Dear Captain Coordination,

From now on, please don’t hold onto the seat backs on your way back from the cafÈ car. If the train happened to slow down suddenly, turn sharply, or pass over a bump, I’d much rather have the contents of your overloaded cardboard tray land in my lap. My dry cleaner doesn’t take enough of my money already, so sending her a pair of pants with melted provolone welded to the front panel will make both of our days. And I miss my boyfriend on return trips like this one, but I’ll miss him a lot less now that I have second-degree coffee burns on my outer labia to keep me occupied. Pass the Neosporin!

One other thing. Please don’t feel obligated to stop and help me clean myself off, or even to apologize for covering me with your scalding-hot lunch. Instead, why not scowl at me as though I bore the blame for upsetting the delicate balance of your meal?

Oh, wait – my mistake. You did just that.

Cheers,

Sarah

Dear People Waiting To Board The Northeast Direct Bound For Washington,

No, no, don’t mind me. I wanted to get off the train and go home, but feel free to trample me in your quest to find a seat. Hey, the train doesn’t leave for a good half-hour, so you’d better knock me down so that you can park your ass by a window. No, really. In fact, I’ll tell you what – I’ll just lie down and spray-paint “WELCOME” on my back, and you can stampede right the hell over me. Don’t forget to step on my face for good luck!

Oh, please, not to worry, I have seven other perfectly good toes.

Just trying to make your life easier,

Sarah

Dear Work,

Oh, good – you piled up.

Relieved,

Sarah

Dear Lord,

Don’t give me any strength or anything.

Respectfully,

The girl who swore up and down that she would never ask for anything again after You came through with that B on the pre-calculus final back in ‘89, and wouldn’t dream of asking for anything now, except that she might punch the next idiot who crosses her path, and You’d probably feel pretty bad about that if You could have prevented it. No pressure, though.

Will it never end?

Worse yet…

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