My day

I guess my day is not as varied or interesting as Tom's. I vacuum the store when I get there. Apparently this is a novel idea and people keep commenting on how they have never seen the place so clean. I guess I picked it up from Daddy vacuuming every morning.

Then I check the money to make sure we have the right amount of cash and all sorts of change, set up the cash registers, straighten up whatever inventory has managed to get moved around, respond to the conductor's radio check and then open up.

From that point on, it is sell tickets, sell stuff, talk to customers, give directions on the telephone, explain a bit of the history of the railway, explain to callers that, no, we do not provide rail service to Florida despite the fact that the Yellow Pages (for unknown reasons) lists us as a passenger and commuter rail service but does not give a listing for Amtrak, although Amtrak does serve Wisconsin Dells. I offer to find the Amtrak listing for them. Soon I will have it by memory.

I explain to callers that, although the GPS system in their rented car wants to send them to some place in Columbus, WI, that is not where we are. Yes, the map that they printed off our web site does show our correct location. How do they get here from where they are? Well, where are they? Passing a farm. Umm, maybe not that helpful. It is, after all, Wisconsin. There are a lot of farms. Somehow we get them on track.

I do a certain amount of babysitting while parents wander around, control the G-scale model train running around the store up near the ceiling to the utter delight of small boys, who stand there moaning, hopping up and down and flapping their hands as if intending to fly up for a closer look. Periodically I go find the missing pieces of the Thomas the Tank Engine train set and put it back together for the next round of kids who run through the door screaming.

I relay messages from the conductor and any work crews out on the line-- or just repeat the messages they send -- via the radio in the store, and (God forbid!) am prepared to call 911 in case the sparks from the steam engine start a fire in the woods. So far, the summer has been so damp there has been little danger.

When trains depart, if I am free to do so, I always go wave goodbye to the children on the train when it passes by the shop. Kids love to wave, and the parents laugh when I encourage them to write when they get to the other end and to send money if they find work. I am starring fleetingly on home videos all over the Midwest, even as we speak. (If I could get copies of all the photos they take of me, I could probably find a decent one for Cynthia.)

In between rushes, I sneak rest room breaks, eat a protein bar and sip some cold coffee for lunch, try to make sure I am keeping the records of the ticket sales up-to-date. After the 5:00 o'clock train departs, I close up, count the money, run the reports for cash and credit cards, sort coupons, put the end results into bags or staple it onto registers and then set up the money bags for the next day. I straighten up the Thomas the Tank Engine train set one last time.

I stay until the final train has returned, in order to man the radio and also in case someone suddenly realizes that they have to go back into the store and buy that engineer's cap they saw. This happens only occasionally, but I have to admit I prefer days when everyone just leaves. By this time I have been at work for eight-and-a-half hours without a real break, trying to be polite, informative and entertaining. I have had five or six kids screaming at the train table while I am trying to talk on the telephone and a model train is rattling over my head, and parents calmly ignore the noise. I have watched parents and grandparents reduced to begging a two-and-a-half year old to please, please, please go with them when it is time to leave. I have (not so patiently) endured long contests between adults and their parents or in-laws over whose credit card I will run through my little machine. I have assured large women that they will fit comfortably into the coaches of the train, and wondered whether some of the large men -- who never seem to wonder themselves -- will manage or not.

Then I get to go home, eat whatever wonderful meal Tom has put on the table, and just relax.

Oh, after petting the cats, of course. First things first.