Sunday, March 29, 2009

The City of New Orleans: Deborah in a Tizzy

Day One.

On the train they call The City of New Orleans, one of the Amtrak employees threatened to call the Amtrak police on us within five minutes. Deborah. That's her name. Obviously, Miss Deborah was having a real honk of a day (Is that a phrase? That should be a phrase), and she wanted to take it out on the five girls who smuggled liquor onto the train. She didn't know we smuggled liquor, though, and she didn't know that a member of our party was carrying pot, and she didn't know that we were going to be harassing all of the Amtrak employees about the frequency of train stops where some of us could take smoke breaks, or that we were going to hang out in the lounge car being loud for the duration of the twenty hour trip.

But Deborah was upset with us because we settled into some seats that were "Reserved for parties of three two or more" according to the piece of flimsy chicken-scratched paper tacked up above the chairs, and Muffy whipped out a marker to made necessary adjustments, so the sign read, "Reserved for parties of three two or more Us."

So Deborah got her inner-workings all bunchy and flipped out on us for destroying Amtrak property.

Then, just to be more obnoxious, the second our train starting chugging out of Union Station on Saturday night, Muffy cranked up her Ipod speakers and we all sang along to Willie Nelson, because I mean, come on, when you're on the train they call The City of New Orleans, it's like a rule or something.

Muffy got it into her head that if you shook up a little cup of half-and-half long enough, eventually you'd get butter. Silly Muffy. All you're gonna get is gross warm milk. But Muffy wanted butter, and Bobbay and I sat in the lounge car, taking it upon ourselves to see the butter process through after she passed out. We'd finished all of the alcohol, so really, what was the point of her staying up anyway? Other than making butter?

So I'm just hanging out, shaking the cream, churning the butter, and I turn to Bobbay. "Seriously. Muffy's all, 'I want butter.' And then she makes us do all the work."

"She's lazy," Bobbay shrugs.

"I know. What kind of buttermaker is she?"

"She's...a half-assed buttermaker."

I slam the creamer down on the table. "She is a half-assed buttermaker."

And then, just to prove the exchange existed, Bobbay and I recorded ourselves overacting that dialogue about forty times over the next three hours before heading back to our seats, attempting sleep.

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On another note, I would like to apologize to anyone I drunkenly emailed any time over this past week.

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18 comments:

The Ambiguous Blob said...

recording devices and much liquor should never be allowed together in the same place. Is that redundant? I don't even care. I stand by my decision.

Nikki B. said...

i have a feeling n'awlins will never be the same since rassles left town!

mongoliangirl said...

Should someone call FEMA? I mean, they would get there a week or so after you all leave, but, you know?

liz said...

arlo or woodie guthrie had that song, city of new orleans.

Rassles said...

Ambiblob: You are definitely very, very correct. Always a bad idea.

Nikki: No, it definitely won't. All of the professional drinkers are gone.

Mongo: The entire situation is very, very confusing, but let's just say Nawlins has been texting me non-stop trying to get me to come back.

Liz: Yeah, it was written for Arlo Guthrie, but Willie Nelson's version is the best.

Anonymous said...

Let me see if I have this right. You were being loud and obnoxious, had booze and pot on the train which is against federal law, and were probably smoking illegally on board as well ... and you're all bent out of shape because an Amtral employee told you to knock it off? She should have kicked your
juvenile asses of the train in the middle of nowhere.

Del-V said...

That was just a drunk email and I didn't win the internet lottery? You are a mean drunk.

Schmee said...

dude...what's up with anonymous? lame-o

MoLinder said...

i'm with schmeeeee, anonymous is a lame-o. why are they even reading your blog?

Rassles said...

Anonymous: Now see, Deborah was in the right to yell at us for writing on a piece of paper, even though she just threw it out. But your assumptions on what went on while we were on the train? That just makes you ignorant.

Del-V: No, but I really do have a million dollar inheritance coming to me, and I really will give you a cut of it if you just help me out and send me some money first.

Schmee: I know, right? Bent out of shape? Hilarious.

MoLinder: I don't know why anyone reads this thing at all. Except for you, because I make you.

Thanatos said...

Compared to some kooks I've seen on trains, you chaps are nice

Of course, if you live in Vanillaville like I do, and happen to travel with 1 black kid in a group of 10, and that kid is wearing bling, and drunk, the cops do get called.

Betsey Booms said...

This is the reason I always keep a sharpie in my bag.

I'm validated now.

I'm not sure why Anonymous couldn't tell you that with their name attached.

prayingtodarwin said...

I think Deborah should stop commenting as Anonymous. It demeans us all.

And for the record, I treasure your drunk emails. Are they that good, or do I have a sad, sad life. Probably a little from column A, a little from column B. Whatever.

hereinfranklin said...

Now that you've conquered New Orleans, you should plan a trip to Key West...

Bluestreak said...

well, at least the faux commenter skipped you. Although it probably would've been some funny shit.

Rassles said...

Thanny: Vanillaville is hard to find on a train plowing through Memphis, Jackson, and New Orleans.

Boomer: I know, right? And if there was a name, at least I would know if they were joking or not.

Ginny: Fucking Deborah.

Franklin: I would love that, but I don't know if I'll be able to do another trip for awhile. I mean, within the past year I've driven across over twenty states.

Blues: I feel tossed aside.

pistols at dawn said...

You guys were traveling in style. Well, as much as anyone on a train can really be traveling in style. After all, hobos rode the rails.

Rassles said...

And it's so hard to be anti-hobo, especially when they breakdance.