Just Waiting for the train (Got a Lifetime Movie Instead)

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Written/Lived by Glen Maylone

It was 7:45 a.m. on the AMTRAK platform in New London, Connecticut.

Trust me, I was looking at my clock, not wanting to miss the train, wondering when it was coming, and wishing I was still snoozing in bed. (I may have had a few adult beverages the night before)

What I was thinking would be an uneventful start to an uneventful day, well it turned around quickly. Stay with me.

A thin morning fog still clung to the bay, slowly burning off as the sun made its way up.

Quite a beautiful scene actually, I was just wandering off mentally enjoying it.

Listening to the seagulls, hearing the traffic starting to pick up as New London was waking up and coming alive.

People stood quiet, sipping coffee, thumbing phones, and pretending no one else existed. (Modern living)

This was a classic Northeast morning scene—sun making an appearance, a little salt in the air, the water of the bay lapping, boats rocking, birds chirping.

Straight up Normal Rockwell waterfront scene. (If he painted waterfront scenes)?

Perfect! Well almost perfect, because naturally, in my rush to be on time (which, for a former soldier, means arriving at least 15 minutes early), I neglected to grab a cup of morning inspiration.

And here at the New London AMTRAC station, there were no vendors selling anything, let alone morning livelihood.

So, there I was—leaning against the rail, doing my best impression of someone content without caffeine—when a group of older ladies loudly rolled up the ramp to the platform.

Four of them. Tourist types. Ranged from late 50s to 70s. I was thinking they looked like they just stepped off the set of the Golden Girls. Nonstop chatter, loud, accents said they were definitely from the Northeast, not quiet Boston, Long Island maybe? (I dubbed them: the Coffee Crew)

They rolled in with coffee cups, matching windbreakers, brochures clutched in hand, purses you could fit the furnishings of a small apartment in, snapping photos of the bay—carrying that tightly wound combination of decades of early wakeups and unfiltered opinions.

A few feet away next to the back rail of the platform stood a quire different couple.

(They looked like a Hot Topic catalog, or a deep dive into a Spencer's gifts, had exploded at a Harley rally)

He looked about my age—gray beard like me, but with arms full of ink, and ear gauges you could roll a quarter through.

Medium height, thin and wiry, long grey hair in a ponytail. Dressed like a combination biker, and kid from the 1990's.

Denim vest with patches sewn all over it, shirt with a color (flipped up), jeans (ripped), and old school tennis shoes, along with maybe a dozen assorted bracelets and rings.

She was… well,,, not his age.

Early 20s, rainbow hair (Originally blonde it appeared), tattoos all over to match.

Baggy pants, half shirt, also a vest, boots (that are a cross between Army, Frankenstein, and what the band Kiss would wear).

Hair in a ponytail, wearing an even larger assortment of rings and bracelets.

She was wearing makeup via the (Tammy Fay Baker college of applied cosmetics), topped off by the unmistakable cologne of Marijane's finest herbal crop, recently applied.

I figured maybe a father-daughter situation. They were standing side by side maybe a foot apart, he quietly looking out at the water, her perusing her phone. No big deal.

And then out of nowhere she rolled around, leaned in full-on chest to chest, and they started kissing.

Not just a quick peck either.

Full-on smooch city, transitioning into some lingering gropes, just enough to make it publicly uncomfortable no matter who the participants were.

Half a make-out session right there next to the ‘Boarding Platform A’ sign. All before 8AM on a weekday.

For a moment there it appeared like it may transition to full on (Parental Advisory, Rated R, or even Cinemax scene)!

The air got really quiet.

All other sounds seemed to disappear.

All sounds except for the creaking of heavy makeup now cracking under the pressure of the raised eyebrows of the coffee crew, whose previously loud banter had now ceased, their attention fully now on this couple.

If it was humanly possible to feel judgment (aside from the biblical fire, flood type) this would be it. Judgement was roiling forth from the coffee crew!

The young woman—clearly no stranger to this situation noticed them, (or maybe she had provoked them, we will never know) seamlessly, almost playfully—turned to the group and said, with a perfectly measured tone of mock Northeast snark:

“Enjoying yourselves ladies"?

"Age is just a number that is transcended by love.”

For an instant, I thought—hmm. Well played.

My "well played" thought was quickly interrupted by the lead matriarch—late 60s, who loudly, in a calm measured tone, but one with all the dripping sarcasm born of decades of judgment—fired back instantly:

“Oh, Sweetie, I agree. Age is JUST a number." (She said emphasizing the work "JUST" with a razor sharpness).

"But JUST like a prison sentence, (short pause, while looking at her coffee crew mates) which by the way sweetie, is also JUST a number… at some point, it does matter in life.”

That one hit like a dropped mic. BOOM!

Suddenly, everyone within earshot had tuned in to the unexpected morning entertainment.

A few chuckles broke out up and down the platform.

The challenger: a spunky twenty-something " I do what I want".

The veterans: a gang of seasoned “Well, I never” ladies.

The guy didn’t flinch, didn't miss a beat.

I could see his grip tighten on the young lady's arm to reign in where she was obviously at the ready to go verbally with the coffee crew.

Cool as could be, he leaned in and said to her, “Baby, let’s head down to the other end, and let these ladies have some time to themselves”

Then turned to the Coffee Crew as they were walking away and, with full gentleman like class, added, “Y’all have a nice trip, and a blessed day.”

As they walked away, he punctuated the moment with a very obvious hand full pat on his companion's butt.

A little swagger, and some "in your face" punctuation for sure.

Now with the backdrop of some (hushed tone conversations), and (continued glares down the platform from the coffee crew), the train arrived.

While boarding, a young woman next to me—late 20s, and who had been much closer to the action than I was—shook her head and muttered out loud, “I honestly thought he was her daddy when I first saw them…”

“Obviously, he is” I said.

We both laughed.

She said: “Takes all types to make the world go ’round.”

I agreed and thought "it certainly does".

Truth is, I wasn’t even watching any of the people on the platform until the dialogue kicked off.

I was too busy wishing I had a cup of coffee and watching the seagulls chase scraps across the water.

But life’s like that. One minute, you’re invisible—alone with your thoughts.

The next, you’re witnessing an HBO pilot… or maybe a lost episode of Springer… unfold in real time.

I thought I’ll forget most of the train ride back to D.C. But that moment? That one’s staying with me.

I thought that at that moment anyway, but New Jersey station brought Uncle Baconstein.

But that is another story, in another blog post.

And next time?

I’m bringing coffee.

Maybe popcorn too???

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