Lost in translation

Welcome aboard to another one of Steve's Train blah blah Blog's adventures! This time, prepare for a journey where maps are optional and understanding is... well, a work in progress. Join me as I recount a train trip that was less about the destination and more about the hilarioFusly tangled path of communication. It's a story with smiles, head-scratching moments, and the universal language of goodwill. Get ready to laugh along as we dive into a truly 'lost in translation' experience that proves some of the best train travel memories are made when things don't quite go to plan.

 

 

For the record, aI writes these intros.  I couldn't possibly write that, however, it's all in fun.

 

FRIDAY, 7:47 am

 

Friday morning on the River line train.  I've been taking this ride all week from work and there' no absence of drama.  

Everyday there's been something.  Tuesday, there was a body on the tracks.  Wednesday, it was raining so hard with the windshield wipers not working, the conductor literally drove the train blind for two stops.

I looked over at a few young Spanish guys from work, who have shared this ride all week, and said out loud.  "TREN LOCO!" (Crazy Train).

The one guy looks over and smiles. "Ozzy?!"

I laughed and gave him the thumbs up.  Yes, Ozzy.

 

Then I think, does he realize I'm actually talking about this exact train or does he think I yell out random classic rock songs, like I have tourettes.

 

It doesn't matter does it.  It gave us both a smile.

 

Going off the rails lost in translation.