I picked my way through the worst spots as I drove onto the yard.

It’s true, we had just had a good-sized blizzard and the melting snow was making everyone’s yard a travesty. 

But I’ll have to admit, theirs was the worst.

I opened my car door and stared straight down and out into puddles and soupy mud.

I noticed the water in the puddle directly under my door had an iridescent color to it, and it wasn’t long before I smelled the diesel fuel mixed in it.

I stepped out, trying to skip the worst of it, but evidently, I wasn’t successful; my shoe pulled off my foot and I had to stop and try to balance on one foot in slippery mud while I pulled my other shoe back on.

I entered what I supposed was the office.

Only a few of the lights worked.  The rest were burned out.

It looked like a modern office; the floor was contemporary, but it was mostly hidden under a trail of mud that led towards the back. 

I stood for a few moments, looking at the dust covered desks that were piled over with overcoats and mismatched gloves. 

Hearing a voice somewhere in the back that sounded like it was giving directions, I started picking my way back there. 

I entered a completely darkened break room, and then finally came to the room with the voice that was still speaking.

I saw a youngish man sitting sprawled in an office chair, clicking his mouse on what looked like a spread sheet of sorts.

He didn’t hear me, and after a bit I scuffed my shoe on the floor to make him look up and back at me.

His eyes looked at me without any reason to think anything more or say anything.

“Is this hallowed ground?” I asked.

“Do what?” It looked like he wasn’t used to that combination of words.

“Is it okay if I’m back here?” I asked.

“If you don’t do anything stupid,” he grunted.

I chuckled inwardly. 

I was his senior by as much as twenty some years, and the thought of who might do something stupid, whether it was him or me, amused me.

I told him my reason for being there, and he let me know with several oaths that explained his lack of understanding my opening statement sufficiently that the higher uppers were heading this way and I could talk to them when they got here.

I retired back to the front room with the musty smell and burned-out lights. 

After a while, an engineer entered.  (I was at the head office of our local railroad, by the way.)

He was a lot more civil and a much cleaner spoken person.

He told me a lot about where he lived and how he was a traveling engineer, just like the traveling nurses do at hospitals.

I asked him if he liked working for the railroad.

He said he did. 

I wondered why he did, when I noticed how slowly they operated on this track compared to one about 25 miles south.

“Oh,” he said, “It’s all in your mind.  This is a class 3 track which means top speed is only 10 m.p.h.  That one over there is a class 1 which means you can go up to 70.  You just change the way you think.  Takes me a full day to do 80 miles.  I can take in the scenery along the way.”

“The difference is,” he said, “is that track is a remedial track.  This one is reactive.  They have a crew on that other track that works full time on replacing every fourth tie.  Takes em’ a whole year.  They get back to the start and start replacing every fourth tie again, right in front of the tie they replaced last year.  That way, they have a new track every four years.

This track doesn’t do anything until something breaks.  Case in point, I just put two locomotives on the ground yesterday when the ties snapped beneath me, and the rails laid over to the side.”

“So that’s why you guys have as many derailments as you do,” I opined.

“Yep.”

*****

I thought on that for a while.  And I figure a lot of us are either the reactive or remedial category. 

I guess either way, you get to the point where you started out for. 

One way seems like it might have a little more up-front stress, and the other way seems like it might have quite a bit of backhand stress that you never expected and may have to deal with in the heat of the moment.