Who eats at bad food places? Shhheeewwww.

I can now say in all honesty, I don't like working to Nashville. My engineer was as cantankerous as ever. He was short with me in every way. If it wasn't silent in the cab, he was explaining to me that I didn't belong out on the road. Railroaders can be like dogs. They mark their territory, and if you come close watch out. One way you know you are not invited is the "Shhhhewww". "Shhheeewwww" is the classic railroad heckle broadcast over the radio right after the unwelcome new comer gives instructions over the radio. I avoided the "Sheeewww" this trip, but I'm sure it was by the skin of my teeth. We worked early early into the morning on Wednesday. Slept only a few hours. It's so hard to sleep when the sun is up. Had no choice but to eat at Shoney's. I ate bad pancakes and scrabbled eggs with the cantankerous engineer and two of his not as cantankerous buddies. As they made trip after trip to the buffet, I watched a line of old or boring or old and normal and boring folks line up outside the door to eat bad food. I looked out the window to see gas stations and fast food places lining the busy suburban street with its many stoplights and billboards advertising legal help and either beer or cigarettes. I did get to take a nap though. The return trip was a little better. After a few more short remarks from the cantankerous engineer, I reminded him that we shared a classic railroad moment together and that he was the one that gave me my nick name. See, it was one day last year when he and I had a trip together. We had too much train for the engines we had, and the engines couldn't pull the train up the hill coming out of the Cumberland River Valley. We stalled our first try and we backed down the hill for another run. We tried it again and failed again. He got out to inspect the sanders that lay sand on the rail for traction. They didn't work. We tried again and got a little further, but still stalled. He said the only way we'd make it is if we had sand on the rails because the wheels would just spin. We both knew the only way it could be done. So, I said LETS GO! He started to pull again, and as he pulled I'd go from the top of the engine were the sand is kept, grab a hand full of sand, run out in front of the train (going about a mile an hour, maybe two) and sprinkle the sand on the rail and then back to the top to do it again. We did that for about a 1/3 of a mile and we made it up the hill. As we started to pick up speed, he looked at me and said "great job Sandy!" After I reminded him, he seemed to warm up to me. But it was too late. We were almost back to Louisville.