The New Guy

"The new guy, what's his name? Scott? Sean? Steve?"

"Sam," I say.

"What?"

"Sam. His name is Sam."

"Ok, well he's an idiot," says Ray. "He seriously needs to get his head out of his ass if he ever wants to be a halfway decent conductor someday. Otherwise, the railroad is gonna chew him up and spit him out."

"Really. What'd he do? What happened?"

"It was when you were on vacation and he was covering your job -- and thanks, by the way -- for letting me get stuck with him. I owe you one, like right in the balls!"

"Sorry," I say, giggling. "You know how it is. Wine, woman, and sunshine were calling, plus I needed a break from the railroad, which you, of all people, I'm sure can understand. You being as old as God and everything."

"I understand, believe me. And, by the way, fuck you for calling me old. You wait, you'll see. You'll be in my shoes before you know it. Unfortunately, I'll be dead and won't be around to tell you I told you so. But you'll see. You'll see how time quickly goes by and bites you in the ass, before running you over."

"That's funny," I say, laughing. "That almost makes sense."

"What does?" asks Ray, half-smiling. "Whatdoya mean?"

"That last part. That thing you said. Never mind."

"Yeah, well, maybe I just need to retire. I could've gone three years ago. What the fuck am I still doing here, anyway? You probably think I'm crazy. I think I'm crazy -- in fact, I know I am. But what the fuck am I gonna do with myself all day? I'll drink myself to death in front of the TV and no one will find me until years later and all they'll find is my stupid skeleton, still sitting on the couch. Yeah, I should just keep working till they carry me off the train on a stretcher."

"That's hardcore, man," I say.

"Pathetic is what it is. Like my brain. So what was I saying before I started feeling sorry for myself? Oh, yeah, the new guy, Shane."

"Sam."

"What? Right. Sam. Fuck. Not the sharpest tool in the drawer, if you know what I mean. So, the dispatcher gets on the radio and tells us to stop and hand-line a switch. I grab my gloves, switch keys, and flashlight to go out and line the switch myself, and I think, no -- fuck it -- it's raining, it's dark and cold out -- I'm too old for this shit -- so I instead decide to send the new guy out. He doesn't even have a flashlight, so I give him mine, and then he goes out there to do this one simple thing. After all, it's not rocket science. But what does he do?"

"What?"

"He fucks it up, is what he does. Tries to line it back as we're about to pass over the switch. Luckily, the engineer noticed it and stopped the train just in time, before we all got fired. Then he gets back on the train and I really chew his ass out, almost making him cry. Dumb fucker."

"Wow," I say, "Sounds like a close call." Then I start thinking back to when I first started on the railroad, a decade and a half ago now. I was also the new guy once. I was also a dumb fucker. I didn't know my ass from a hole in the ground. But I learned. I'm not a quick learner, but when I get it I get it. And it stays with me forever. Some of these old heads, like Ray, forget what it's like to be new. They'll walk around, cocky as hell, like they were born with switch keys in their hands. Some of them, though, do remember. That's what makes us better, safer, more equipped to handle the job.

"Fuck it," says Ray. "I think I'm gonna do it."

"What's that?" I ask.

"I'm retiring. I'm pulling the plug. It's time to let all you new guys -- younger guys -- have all the fun and make all the money. I can't take it anymore. I'm tired."

My mind starts to wander a little, imagining myself at Ray's age, looking back at a life filled with trains and miles and miles of endless track, weaving in and out of the gray details, the pieces of a life lived outside of the railroad: lovers, marriages, divorces, children, addictions, death, the joy and suffering, the burning up of time gone by too quickly. Fifteen years, I think. I'm only at the halfway mark.