Taking a leisurely tour of the Colorado mountains by train with my man, we were thoroughly enjoying the ride, the views, and the live music accompanying us in the Club Car. I couldn't have managed a better first train ride for my man if I had tried - and quite frankly I had, landing a fabulous deal for the day. But even my expectations had been surpassed.
After a wonderful day spent sipping drinks and taking it easy, we were finally on our way back, reveling in the privacy we had by being the only passengers in the car.
The door opens and in walks a railroad employee, ensemble complete with conductor hat. He perched on the seat next to me, across from my man, D. He lit up a light banter.
He was rather excited to find out that it was D's first train ride. He explained to us that it was his second to last day on that particular train. He was moving to Chicago to work on a different track.
He expressed he didn't really want to go to Chicago.
"Really, why go then?" I prodded.
"Oh, I crashed a freight train recently and I'm being transferred so I don't get fired."
My eyes darted quickly to the word "conductor" scrawled in gold across the brim of his hat. I shot a look to my now-pale man. The conversation died a bit then as we wondered in silence to the rocking of the train, exactly what had he meant by 'crashed'?