Late to work
The Pacific Northwest T&HC Rail Line is under construction. When I think of railroad construction I think of the old west, of Chinamen tunneling through the Rockies, of Indians routing buffalo stampedes through construction camps, and John Henry racing the steam engine. This was not like that. This was Mexican and white men wearing jeans and hardhats, talking on cell phones, and driving earth movers. They were friendly and waved when I passed walking beside the track, but I didn’t want to get caught jumping the train.
I crouched in the brush watching for the flatbed cars, they were the only ones that had a ladder low enough to reach from the ground. There were only four of them, and if I missed my jump I wouldn’t have time to try again, I’d end up walking. As they approached I tensed, timing my 12-step run just right. Without hesitation I leapt, sprinting with all my might for the ladder as it whipped past me.
“STOP!” The word struck me from behind, literally bowling me over. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?”
I rolled away from the train, spitting bits of dirt and gravel out of my mouth, and looked back in shock. A group of men in construction hats were staring at me, most were laughing, but the one holding the bull-horn looked furious. I scrambled to my feet, wiping more gravel off my face and palms and looked back at the escaping train.
“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, ASSHOLE!”
I looked back at the man with the bull horn; his compatriots were still laughing their asses off. I risked his wrath and looked back at the train again anyway. It had passed and I had no chance of catching up to it now. My shoulder slumped in defeat and I slunk away from the track and back into the woods. Looks like it was going to be the sidewalk for me today.
…
I looked at my boss and held up my shredded palms and pointed to my scraped chin as proof. “That’s why I’m late for work, honest to God, that’s the truth.”
I crouched in the brush watching for the flatbed cars, they were the only ones that had a ladder low enough to reach from the ground. There were only four of them, and if I missed my jump I wouldn’t have time to try again, I’d end up walking. As they approached I tensed, timing my 12-step run just right. Without hesitation I leapt, sprinting with all my might for the ladder as it whipped past me.
“STOP!” The word struck me from behind, literally bowling me over. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?”
I rolled away from the train, spitting bits of dirt and gravel out of my mouth, and looked back in shock. A group of men in construction hats were staring at me, most were laughing, but the one holding the bull-horn looked furious. I scrambled to my feet, wiping more gravel off my face and palms and looked back at the escaping train.
“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, ASSHOLE!”
I looked back at the man with the bull horn; his compatriots were still laughing their asses off. I risked his wrath and looked back at the train again anyway. It had passed and I had no chance of catching up to it now. My shoulder slumped in defeat and I slunk away from the track and back into the woods. Looks like it was going to be the sidewalk for me today.
…
I looked at my boss and held up my shredded palms and pointed to my scraped chin as proof. “That’s why I’m late for work, honest to God, that’s the truth.”