On our two-day drive home from a visit with our granddaughter and family in Tennessee, we stopped for the night at approximately the halfway point. With no restaurant at the motel we chose, my wife and I drove to a nearby truck stop, which had a non-brand-name food bar with a walk-up window and good selection of made-to-order subs and sandwiches to choose from.
I was not attempting to present as female, wearing my typical androgynous stirrup pants, flats, and a polo top covered by a sweater…just as I wore around everyone in TN. We so love those 60 degree temperatures! (Of course, I was carrying my purse, and I can’t hide the long hair – or pinkish acrylic nails, which I admit to shamelessly displaying at times.)
We walked up to the window and were greeted by an androgynous person with a short androgynous haircut, flat chest, no earrings or nail polish, but a feminine voice. (Really couldn’t tell for sure if she was a masculine “she” – or a transgender. (That may remain a mystery forever!)
She addressed as ladies, and my wife took the lead in placing our order, since she was paying… After our order was rung up, my wife and I walked to the cashier on the other side of the building to pay the bill. There, the female clerk (who hadn’t been able to hear the girl who took our order, addressed both of us as ladies. Then we returned to the area of the counter to await our order. When it was finally ready, the girl (?) who made the sandwiches announced “ladies, your order is ready.” We picked it up, and as we left, another female staffer said “Good night, girls. Thanks for stopping by.”
My wife took that in stride, and there were no comments about it. Mandy – out and about with my wife in public. Without a dress or skirt, and without trying. What a way to end 2019 and begin 2020!
On the Road Again days 4 & 5 were covered previously in my pictorials of New Orleans a few posts back, in November. This will cover days 6 (departure from NOLA for California) and 7. At 3 AM I was up already up, preparing to get on the train, though my bags were mostly packed from the night before. I was just anxious to get the show on the road.
My outfit was ready, so I shaved and dressed and went down to the lobby to wait for the cab the bellman had ordered, to deliver me to the Amtrak station at 7AM. It arrived in a timely manner, and there was very little interaction with the driver…and no “S” word. When I got to the station, I went to the Magnolia sleeping car passenger waiting room.
An employee was there and let me in, identifying me from my ticket and former employer’s ID card (which doesn’t show age or gender), giving me the code to the electronic door lock (they have a problem with vagrants sneaking in.) Another lady was already there, and we chatted a while. Then I went out to take some pictures, and when I let myself back in, I heard clapping and “Good Girl! I knew you could do it!” It’s the first time I’ve heard that phrase used to compliment me!
Here is a picture of me in the Magnolia Room at the Amtrak station, taken by the lady…
And things kept getting better.
A few minutes later, more folks came in, and chairs started filling up. Four young guys (20-somethings) with British accents came in and sat down across from me. Feeling a bit better about my abilities to communicate like a woman, I asked them where they were from (vacationing from South Africa), and they started talking. Just like guys do. A few questions from me, kept them going. Soon the only vacant seat left was next to me, because many of the rest were couples. A woman came in and asked if the seat was available. I assured her that it was, and she sat there, thanking me for the seat, and we chatted a few minutes, till it was time to board the train.
Some of the folks I’d spoken with were in my car, others not. But I was “Ma’am” or “Miss” when they greeted me as I passed by them, and in the dining car. Obligingly, the dining car staff followed along and noted that I’m a woman. They went out of their way to seat me at a table with other women. This continued as the trip went on…two days and two nights.
There was only one cranky old male “Grinch” who seemed to recognize my true gender. Early on, when he passed me in the aisle, he said “Excuse me Sir – oh, Ma’am. Sorry. ) An accident? Naaahhh – intentional. But for some reason, he changed his tune later in the trip and stuck with Ma’am. Perhaps hearing it from others made him reconsider his analysis of me? Naaahhhh. Just trying to be polite….after initially being a butt-head. Fortunately, his attitude didn’t prevail with others!
Clearly this was the most enjoyable all-Amtrak rail voyage I’ve had so far – with the most social interaction that Mandy has ever experienced. There were compatible female table mates at every meal, and the ladies related to me as a woman., talking about things like how women get “talked down to” and so on. Mandy was definitely experiencing a taste of “life as a woman.” Other than the Grinch, there was no clue that anyone thought I was anything but what I appeared to be. It was was a wonderful and very affirming experience. I hope it continues as my trip unfolds.
Surprisingly, Mandy was the only woman in the 2 sleeping cars who was wearing a skirt. Go figure.
I took the following picture of an interesting cloud formation at sunset on the first evening on the Sunset Limited:
Reality says it was actually a central Texas pop-up thundershower. With today’s world political situation, initially it appeared to be something a lot more sinister and devastating. Thankfully that wasn’t the case.
And here is a picture taken by the car attendant, of me during a passenger stop in the little burg of Alpine, TX.
Then another by the car attendant, in Tucson, AZ. He said he takes a lot of pix for people as souvenirs. (I quietly wondered how many are trans folks? We’ll never know!)
For anyone who may have doubted whether there really is desert in the USA’s “desert Southwest”, following is the proof positive! Mile after mile of nothing but sand and scrub brush, with few roads and few buildings.
On the road again…time for a little excursion. Remember as you read, that this took place – and was written – back in 2017.
With the possibility that the new administration in Washington DC may try to eliminate part or all of the funding for Amtrak’s long distance trains, I decided to get out there and ride long distance rails, before it’s no longer possible.
I charted out a “dream vacation” covering many of the western routes, planned some interesting layovers. And made my reservations…solo. (Yes, my wife was invited, and she likes trains, but not this much. So she opted out.) Before you ask – yes, retirement makes things like this achievable.
Departure day finally arrived. I headed for the train station at the airport in Baltimore, to catch a commuter train to Union Station in DC.
For this part of the trip, I had to travel in “less feminine mode”…as the trains would be ones my wife uses to get to her sister’s place for their annual visit. My attire was stirrup pants, pantyhose, flats, turtleneck tunic top, necklace, and purse. And my nails were freshly done (in a light pink color).
On the commuter train, nobody – from the ticket office to the train – used any gender-specific forms of address for me. In Union Station however, I was universally addressed as female, at least until I got on the Amtrak train…when as if by magic, the greetings reverted to “male.” Both the train crew and sleeper/diner attendants. I didn’t recognize the folks, but apparently they knew my real gender. C’est la vie.
By the way: in case nobody has seen them, at Union Station a shopkeeper is apparently making some money selling “Hillary Clinton bobbleheads.” I didn’t buy one (though probably it would be a decent investment as a collectible), but almost went in to ask why they weren’t selling “Donald Trump bobbleheads” too. Maybe they were Hillary supporters… There were a lot of customers in the store, and time didn’t permit waiting…
My train departed on time for Chicago. But after the last regular stop in Western Maryland, delays began. Five minutes here, five minutes there, waiting for trains going in the other direction. After “dinner in the diner,” the car attendant turned down my bed, and I hit the sack. Though with all the stops, I didn’t sleep much. In the railroad industry, and old adage says “late trains get later. “ And it sure did. As far as I was concerned – the delay was no matter. All it would do for me is shorten an uncomfortably long layover.
Remember, I was dressed as I was yesterday, since I was still on “my wife’s” train. Once off the inbound train in Chicago, folks whom I ran into at a restaurant and again at the lounge at Chicago Union Station, all interpreted me as female, despite my not wearing a skirt. In fact, few women were wearing skirts. which surprised me. With the temperature at 75 degrees at 11 AM, I thought skirts would be popular. My mistake!
But I put my time in the Windy City (yes – it lived up to its name) to good use…by doing some interesting sightseeing right after arrival, and getting a few pictures.
Remember Kolchak – the Night Stalker – from an ancient horror series about paranormal activity on the Telly back in the 70’s? (Be careful…if you do, you’re dating yourself!) In the above picture, I finally got a good look at what I seem to recall was Darren McGaven’s office! (The one at track level on the Elevated – pictured above. He could see into the trains and riders could see into his office.)
Above is on the south side of East Jackson, down by the intersection with South Michigan Ave. It marks the end of Eastbound Route 66.
The above sign on the South side of Adams Street beckons the way West on Route 66! Note the Sears Tower (now Willis Tower) peeking up over the top of the sign!
Once back in the station, waiting in the lounge for departure to New Orleans, I found out that there had been some demonstrations near the Trump Tower that day – those supporting Trump clashing with those who don’t support him. That’s all I would have needed – to accidentally step into the middle of something like that. Fortunately I don’t know where it is, nor do I care…but I certainly will be careful in the future!
At train time, I used the services of a redcap again, which saved walking out to the train. Both my bags and I got a lift, along with several other passengers and their belongings. I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t travel light. And I was correctly addressed by the folks present.
My train left the station, and then stopped dead in its tracks. A lift bridge in front of it was stuck, and they couldn’t get a good estimate of how long it might be until it would be fixed. So they disconnected the diesel engines, drove them around the train and put them on the other end, and devised an alternate route to get us out of the station and headed south. (By the time we arrived in New Orleans, we were almost 2 hours late. )
On this train, the young car attendant initially interpreted me as a guy, using the dreaded “S” word. But as several passengers addressed me as a lady, his tune changed. And after returning from the diner (where the staff addressed me as a guy), he had started to address me more appropriately. Not sure what made him decide to do that, but whatever the motivation, he did the right thing. Even though I wasn’t in a skirt. And it remained that way for the rest of the trip. (Which – along with getting me off the train first) ultimately earned him a tip…
Sleeping was tough that night, due to the rough ride. Tracks belong to the freight railroad (in this case Canadian National), and though repairs have been forthcoming, it’s a lot of track to fix. It appears they’ve done quite a bit, but there’s more to be done, that’s for sure.
I’ve never been to Jackson in Mississippi before, and probably won’t be again. But my new friend the car attendant got a pic of me on the platform there. It felt as though it was well over 80 degrees, and upon returning to my room, I shed the long pants for shorts, and the turtleneck for a tunic blouse.
By the time the train arrived in New Orleans, it was still warm, but had clouded over, and tropical late afternoon storms moved through. It was still raining as we skirted Lake Pontchartrain, and it had been a long night and day. The cabbie, who identified me as “sir” got me right to the hotel, where the desk clerk promptly used appropriate female greetings. As did the bellman.
Once in my room, the skirts came out and would be my attire until Chicago on the trip home. For the present, shorts/pants were relegated to my suitcase. A fabulous beginning to a wonderful trip.
And now the fun (and sightseeing) begins…stay tuned.
Mandy
PS: Note: the highlights of my New Orleans visit were posted earlier. So I will omit duplication here, and segue directly to days 6 and 7.
To all my friends and readers: during this joyous season, may you have a wonderful and Merry Christmas, and the best holidays ever. And don’t eat too much!!!
Recently, my wife and I were seated at a diner about 150 miles from home, and the thirty-something female server with VERY short (translation: not feminine at all) hair said “Hi girls…what can I get you to drink?” We both asked for “just water, please.” And with that, she took off to get it for us. I made no attempt to soften my voice, and I was wearing androgynous women’s shorts, flats, and polo top. She may have seen my purse and nails when I walked in…but I’ll never know.
Then came the absolutely amazing part.
When she returned with our drinks, she apologized profusely for mis-gendering me, and said she simply assumed I was a girl because of “your beautiful long hair. And I get mistaken for a boy all the time, so I know how that feels. Once again, I’m so sorry!” My wife remained silent (though I didn’t notice her blushing or anything like that.) But I thanked the server for her compliment about my hair, and accepted her apology (though I wasn’t at all offended…LOL!) She treated us very well the rest of our meal, arranged for an extra big helping of dessert, and we left a nice tip.
Usually once I’m accepted as a girl, most folks continue that acceptance, even once the revelation strikes them that I’m not what I seem to be. So this was very unusual…and my wife was also surprised. (But after it happened, she didn’t mention it again. Nothing else was said.)
Since I travel by train, I’m always prepared for the long layover in Chicago, Amtrak’s “hub in the midwest.” This trip was no exception; in fact transfer to the City of New Orleans train takes longer than most because it departs Chicago at 8:05 PM. Hence I took the chance to visit the Great Hall in Union Station and see it illuminated.
That huge overhead skylight is under renovation, but the colors from floodlites impart an eerie blue glow to the nighttime walls above.
It was during this layover that I was recognized as female by another Amtrak customer, who was in the first-class Metropolitan Lounge with me (and about 75 other sleeping car passengers for various trains – it’s a benefit of traveling by sleeper.)
Let me start with a picture of that day’s attire:
Certainly not overtly feminine, is it?
And
I was sitting at a table, working at my computer, with my long hair and nails visible, and my purse open on the table, as seconds before, I had just retrieved my phone. A lady walked by and asked if the seat across from me was taken. It wasn’t, so I told her she could have it, and she sat down. “Thanks so much, Ma’am.” “You’re quite welcome.” We chatted a bit, and soon she had to use her phone, to try get a problem on a bill resolved.
While she was on the phone, and at that moment unbenownst to us, a decently-dressed (not raggedy) panhandler had found a way past the guard at the door (who checks tickets) and was making the rounds. He came up behind the lady on the phone, glanced at her and walked right past, noticed my purse right in front of me (with the shoulder strap around my wrist), and saw an easy mark. WRONG. “Can you spare a dollar, lady?” I stood up, looked him in the eye, and in a loud voice said “No I can’t. And this is an inappropriate place for you to be begging…get out of here before Security arrests you for trespassing!”
The lady described to whomever was on the phone “what was happening to the lady with her” and then quit talking, in disbelief that he bypassed her, and came directly to me. And disbelieving that he bolted for the exit when I reprimanded him. The panhandler had apparently misjudged his intended victim…believing that a woman was an easy mark, and that I’d dip into my purse to give him some money. Big miscalculation.
A guy sitting on a sofa across from me (and behind the panhandler) said afterward that he was prepared to take down the panhandler from behind if things had gone badly. “Ma’am, I’ve been hit on by panhandlers, and didn’t want this guy to get away with bothering a couple of ladies. Or worse yet, try to steal anything.”
After stopping her phone conversation while the action was ongoing, the lady across the table finally resumed her call while I notified security…but by then, the panhandler was long gone. I guess being ousted from the Metropolitan Lounge seriously reduced his profits that day…. Once I described the panhandler, the guard recalled a man of that description scurrying out behind a line of incoming passengers.
All 3 of us believe the guy wasn’t looking for food money. To us, he looked and sounded “high as a kite,” professing to want food, but instead using any donated cash for his next “fix”. If in the future I ever decide to do something for a panhandler who is begging for food money, I MIGHT (but probably not) consider buying him a cheap nearby fast-food cheeseburger, but only if I had a friend (or two) with me.
No cash, though…not happening.
Needless to say, traveling – by any form of transportation – is NEVER dull!
It was another fun “excursion” although Mandy stayed in her suitcase during the gathering, choosing not to be wearing a skirt among folks we know. Everyone is used to my androgynous self…
When time permitted, I did some sightseeing. And what did I see? Well, first – do you remember Conway Twitty (Country & Western Singer – and “It’s Only Make Believe,” from the ’50’s)? His real name was Harold Jenkins, and Conway Twitty was a stage name. So where did it come from? Reportedly from two towns, one of which I passed through:
The above is a long telephoto grab shot out of the car window at Conway, Arkansas. That other town he used was, of course, Twitty, TX – which I one day hope to visit. Voila, a great stage name!
From my “Odd Names of places” department, here’s one that’s definitely worthy of the record books:
Yes, it really says Toad Suck. I did a massive double take when I saw that first roadside sign – and couldn’t resist detouring to get a picture.
Per Wikipedia, Toad Suck (the actual name of a nearby town – which time did not permit me to visit) is an unincorporated community in Perry County, AR. The origin of the name is disputed. Some believe it received the name when idle rivermen would congregate at the local tavern where they would “suck on the bottle ’til they swell up like toads”, while others believe it is a corruption of a French phrase meaning “a narrow channel in the river.”
In any case, it probably will be at the very top of my unusual names list, for quite some time to come!
When was the last time you used onion skin with carbon paper? What the heck is that, you thirtysomethings-and-under may ask?
Back in the good old days, well before Commodore and Atari broke down the doors for personal computers, before pagers, brick phones and then “new” flip phones broke down the doors and paved the way to today’s smart phones, when home “land lines” had big black boxes with a rotary dial on the front (begetting the term “dialing” a number), before Hewlett Packard became the go-to choice for printers, and before Xerox became a generic word for copier, there were these noisy things called typewriters (many were made by Remington) on almost every desk in the office.
You typed on a keyboard, just like today, but the keys were linked by mechanism to long “arms” with letters at the end. Very noisy when those arms hit the paper, which was on a hard-rubber roller and it moved as you typed. At the end of the line, you then hit a return bail with your hand, and manually advanced one line/moved the roller back to the beginning position. More noise. You can most likely see one of these at nearly any antique store these days…
How would you make a copy of that letter for your file? And one for your boss in Paducah? Remember, there was no Xerox (or fax). If you didn’t want to mimeograph multiple copies, you went to the supply shelf, picked up one or two sheets of onion skin (very thin, almost transparent paper, like the outer skin of an onion), great for sending via air-mail (which doesn’t exist anymore either), and one or two sheets of carbon paper (thin paper backed on one side with lightly-bonded carbon. Very messy.) Stacking the paper properly with letterhead paper on top, a piece of carbon paper facing carbon side down, a piece of onion skin, then another piece of carbon paper facing carbon side down, and the last piece of onion skin. Roll it into the typewriter, with the letterhead facing up, and go ahead with typing your memo.
Woe betide you if you made a mistake…there was no easy way to correct typed copies (remember, no white-out yet, nor any correction key or tape!) You simply tear the whole thing out, crumple it up, and start over. (No recycling yet…just throw it in the garbage!) Be careful, don’t make any more mistakes…
Need to calculate some figures to use in your memo? Remember, there are no calculators as we know them. Adding machines multiplied by repeat addition. 103 x 6 calculated very clumsily as 103+103+103+ 103+103+103. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-CLUNK.
And once you finished that letter, you typed the address on an airmail envelope with the red, white and blue stripes around the edges, put the extra-cost postage stamp with that picture of an airplane on it, and dropped it off in the special slot at the post office, for quick delivery. Today, gone is “airmail” – you pay one hefty price for “Priority Mail” which is delivered 2 or 3 days later. So over time, the world began to use facsimile machines (transmitting instantly to another one at its destination over your “land line” – or office/home phone line. Or, as the years passed, by “e-mail,” which was short for “electronic mail” and now is known simply as “email.” How times have changed! Now we can put the original in our “all-in-one” home printer and either copy, scan or fax….
I can remember on Saturdays, when out with Dad for the day, playing with the “calculators” at Dad’s office, huge old things that had gears and made all sorts of noise. One thing for sure, Dad (the manager) could always tell when his employees were working, from the din in the office…and nobody was talking! At the time (early to mid-1950’s), this was advanced technology, since you didn’t have to write a column of figures down and do the math manually.
Even a slide rule was considered “high tech” – for those privileged few who knew how to use one.
Just a little refresher course about “the way it used to be” back in the halcyon days!
And as usual, I traveled by train. On the way in or out of Washington Union Station from the north, all long distance and commuter trains pass by an unremarkable, huge old, quonset-hut-styled building, made of concrete. Many folks ride by it on the train daily, and have no clue as to its significance in sports, music and political history. That previously-uninspiring edifice on the east side of the tracks is the former Uline Arena.
It has quite a history.
Per Wikipedia, The 11,000-seat Uline Ice Arena, which opened in February 1941, was built by Miguel L. “Uncle Mike” Uline for his ice hockey team, the Washington Lions of the now-defunct
Eastern Amateur Hockey League. Uline built the arena next to his ice business,in which he had made his fortune. The first act at the new arena was reportedly Sonja Henie’s Hollywood Ice Revue. Another of its earliest events was a pro-America rally in 1941 designed to promote U.S. entry into WW II, just weeks before the attack on Pearl Harborbrought the US into the war on December 7, 1941. During the war, Uline repurposed the arena as a housing facility for U.S. service members.
After World War II ended in 1945, the arena was restored for use as an ice hockey and basketball venue. The Washington Capitols (not the current DC team) began play as a charter member of the Basketball Association of America in 1946 and became a charter member of the National Basketball Association (NBA) in 1949. During its mere five seasons of play, the team used Uline Arena as its home court.
One of President Dwight Eisenhower’s two inaugural balls (in 1953) was held at Uline Arena. Retired boxer Joe Louis made his debut as a professional wrestler on March 16, 1956, defeating Cowboy Rocky Lee.
Jewelry wholesaler Harry G. Lynn bought the arena in 1959 for $1 million. In 1959, Elijah Muhammad gave a speech there, and Malcolm X once spoke there as well.In 1960, Lynn renamed the building the Washington Coliseum.
The one many of us will remember: on February 11, 1964, the Beatles played their first concert in the United States at the Washington Coliseum,less than 48 hours after the band’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show. (Tickets to the show at the Coliseum ranged from $2 to $4.) There were 8,092 fans at the concert, which was opened by the Chiffons, the Caravelles, and Tommy Roe. For those who don’t remember, the Beatles reportedly opened with “Roll Over Beethoven.”
And now, the building is being renovated – extra floors have been added for more space, probably offices. From an ice arena, to a sports venue, to a coliseum, then a trash transfer station, to a renovated property…that’s a brief history of the rather unassuming, but very historic, building.
On this trip I traveled in androgynous mode. I was concerned about meeting someone I know, since I was headed to a conference in the south…but in fact, that didn’t happen. However, I noticed that
I had lost my male identity (never hearing that dreaded “S” word enroute.) But, I was also “not promoted to female status.” Very rarely was I addressed as female on the trip south. (With one notable exception, which I’ll relate in another post),
By that time, I was getting hungry, and ready for dinner. And, I chose to avoid the crowds elsewhere by eating in the “dining car.” It worked, and I beat the rush. Folks were too busy with the fun things in the area and hadn’t stopped to eat yet.
From the window pattern on the side of the restaurant, it appeared to be a former coach, converted to food service. But whatever it was “back in the day,” it looked nice inside. And the food was good.
Obviously, I managed to get there before it got too busy.
Walking around the venue after my meal, I spotted this unusual vehicle. It looked more like a kiddie toy than a real car, but it had a right-hand drive and looked capable of on-road use, so it must be European. And it has the VW emblem on it. Could it be the new version of the venerable old Microbus that VW is allegedly bringing out? I looked up on the internet…but it just seemed too small (inside and out) to be a real car. Those wheels and tires are simply tiny.
So I’ll ask the question of the day: “Does anyone know what it really is?”
What finer way to cap a long day, than with a pretty sunset? Visible right from my room was this beauty:
The second (and final) day of my excursion dawned sunny and clear (after some overnight showers), and I decided to visit the Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania, a short drive (three minutes) away. After checking out of the motel the next morning, and before heading home, I dropped in. Having been there before, I concentrated my visit on the outside display areas, which had been closed on the previous visit.
Seen above are a former Lehigh Valley rail diesel car – a self-contained passenger car, complete with traction motors and a diesel engine on board, and cab controls in the vestibules, so it can run in either direction without a separate engine – and a former Reading Railroad observation car which ran on their streamliner “The Crusader.” There were many more historic pieces in the yard, including a former Amtrak AEM-7 electric locomotive, recently retired – the most modern exhibit.
“Take a ride on the Reading…” That was a slogan the railroad used in its ads, “back in the day.” But automobiles and airlines took became darlings of the travel industry, and the Reading (along with other historic passenger railroad names) became part of US Transportation History. At least we still have Amtrak, and I hope it continues to operate…for a long time to come.
With the museum’s location (just across the street from the Strasburg Railroad), it was easy to walk over there and do some sightseeing as the first train of the day was assembled and prepared for departure.
From there, I pointed the front of the car toward home. No cornfield changing needed this time!
And yes, as you can tell, I had a wonderful excursion!
Even without the added attraction of the Tri-motor, the Strasburg area is great for families…if you ever get a chance to visit, be sure to take the whole gang. There is plenty to do in the area…
Mandy's Miscellany 
