{"id":3098,"date":"2014-02-10T12:42:55","date_gmt":"2014-02-10T19:42:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/?p=3098"},"modified":"2025-05-23T17:31:24","modified_gmt":"2025-05-23T22:31:24","slug":"just-a-story-monday-february-10th","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/just-a-story-monday-february-10th\/","title":{"rendered":"Just A Story – Monday February 10th"},"content":{"rendered":"

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When I was 21 I took a rain from Rome to Zurich with my best (still)\u00a0friend. \u00a0We had tickets in a couchette and were enthusiastically naive about the realities of sleeping on a moving train. \u00a0My traveling companion needed to be hoisted up after putting on her study abroad uniform: a three and a half foot tall backpack with more straps and clips than a bondage chamber. \u00a0We hustled to the train, fending off gypsies and oglers, skidding around the tracks in inappropriate shoes.<\/p>\n

The train cars and sleeping compartments were marked with old stickers worn into hieroglyphics- obviously an Italian original. \u00a0Italian trains haughtily rejected the standard roman alphabet. \u00a0Even the unpretentious numerical order was snubbed. \u00a0An Italian train ticket had to be read, then interpreted by someone with native experience. \u00a0We had been in the country two weeks- exactly enough time to understand we didn’t know what the fuck we were doing.<\/p>\n

I held my ticket in front of my face and read the markings next to the yawning train doors, hoping to find a match: “B, BB, 1D1, 2A\u2026” Our assigned car was 56 and the crowds of people boarding had started to thin. \u00a0Uniformed attendants focused staunchly on our breasts to avoid eye contact and the potential to be asked to do something other than enjoy a cigarette. \u00a0We were determined though, having already missed a train because of a military time mix up. \u00a0“There it is!” my friend cried. \u00a0A blue, paint flaked and rusted train car nestled between cars numbered GG and ^9. \u00a0We ran the last few steps on tiptoes in our high heels and took the stairs in bounds of two.<\/p>\n

The interior of the train was more promising- shiny, long lines invited us down the hallway to the properly ordered sleeping compartments. \u00a0We were the first to arrive and claimed the top bunks. \u00a0It was exciting:\u00a0I imagined the next eight hours would be a combination of my vague memories of \u00a0Dr. Zhivago and art directed like a Wes Anderson movie. \u00a0Crisp white sheets were folded neatly at the foot of the blue vinyl bunks. \u00a0I climbed up the gleaming ladder and heaved off my back pack. \u00a0Shoes were arranged by the ladder, then I grabbed my back pack and started to push it towards the dark space beyond the bunk meant for storage. \u00a0My friend and I continued chatting so it took me a few minutes to realize my pack had met with resistance. \u00a0I pushed again, the blockage gave slightly. \u00a0I pushed harder, thinking there was a little ledge I wasn’t clearing.<\/p>\n

Then I heard “Oof”.<\/p>\n

I pulled my pack towards me, scooting back on my knees down the bunk to peer into the storage area. \u00a0And from the darkness shined a pair of eyes. \u00a0As my vision got used to the darkness I saw a young man, curled up and flattened against the bulkhead of my couchette. \u00a0I screamed. \u00a0I swore and screamed and swore as he scrambled out of the tiny space, down the ladder and out the door. \u00a0Eventually someone in a uniform rushed in (Italian rushing ranges from 15 to 30 minutes) and tried to act interested in what had happened. \u00a0He nodded but left the his notebook and pencil in his pocket. \u00a0Eventually we ran out of Italian words and he left.<\/p>\n

The rest of the journey was uneventful. \u00a0We slept in 40 minute increments, awoken when the train stopped or someone pounded on the door to check our tickets for the 15th time. \u00a0I can’t remember now if other people were in our couchette, although I do remember eating Toblerone and coffee for breakfast. \u00a0We arrived without further incident but I’ve never stopped checking the smallest spaces for stowaways.<\/p>\n

When people think I’ve overly paranoid or neurotic (as if there’s such a thing) I tell them this story, because it’s easier to swallow than some of the other grown up shit I’ve gone through. \u00a0And it’s all the same story- Girl has high expectations; is brought down by something shocking or painful; survives.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When I was 21 I took a rain from Rome to Zurich with my best (still)\u00a0friend. \u00a0We had tickets in a couchette and were enthusiastically naive about the realities of sleeping on a moving train. \u00a0My traveling companion needed to be hoisted up after putting on her study abroad uniform: a three and a half … Continue reading “Just A Story – Monday February 10th”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[59],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3098","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3098","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3098"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3098\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3274,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3098\/revisions\/3274"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3098"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3098"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3098"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}