Another Thing That Never Happened When I Drove To Work

I've been taking the train most days for almost two full months. Early on, I noticed that Eddie, the morning conductor on the front of my train, seemed to know everyone, bantered with the regulars, and was generally a funny, pleasant guy. I also heard rather quickly that he was about to retire, taking a buyout from the commuter rail operator.

When I got on the train today, I was slipped a little piece of paper and a woman whispered to me the cryptic words "it happens right after Wellesley Farms." The paper had the lyrics to "For he's a jolly good fellow," and instructions to sing once we heard the whistle. Once we pulled out from Wellesley Farms, a shrill whistle was heard, and both decks of my packed double decker car burst into song. Eddie was duly impressed, and touched. At South Station everyone stopped to shake his hand, and wish him well in his retirement.

When you ride to work alone in a car, that never happens. The commuter rail can be unreliable at times, too hot often and too crowded always. But it is always just a little bit of community, at least for forty minutes each way weekdays.