The Man Who Damned Near Never Returned

 

by Pa Rock

Stranger on a Tram

I left the library early today and took the tram to the center of Salt Lake to try and find a reasonably-priced lunch and buy a few groceries to bring back to my rooms.  The tram ride was only a few blocks and I got to where I wanted to go without incident - though when I got off I still had three or so blocks to go on foot.  (And the blocks in Salt Lake City are insanely long, with avenues so wide that I cannot get across before the lights change.  Some pedestrians literally sprint across the busy streets.)

Old man, hobbling along while struggling to keep his blue jeans pulled up.  Walk a hundred yards, sit on a bench to catch my breath,  get up and walk another hundred.   Eventually I made it to the mall food court and from there took a tunnel beneath a major street and came out at the multi-story grocery and deli.  Thirty minutes later with two bags of groceries, I exited the store via a different door and facing a different direction from the way I had entered.

The double grocery bags had paper handles, so I had a pair of grips in each hand - and my right thumb was hooked through a belt loop to make sure that I didn't accidentally flash downtown Salt Lake City.  It took quite a bit of walking - twenty minutes or so - but eventually I came across a tram stop.  One arrived in less than five minutes, and I managed to get aboard - so far, so good,   But the car that I entered was crowded and I had to go up a step and then a ramp to take a seat in an elevated section at the back of the car.

These SLC trams are automatically controlled without drivers, so there is no one to hold the train if a traveler is having trouble getting to the door.  I stumbled toward the automatic doors when the tram arrived at my stop, but reached them just as they were closing.  A very nice lady stepped up and told me that I could get off at the next stop and quickly catch a ride back to my stop.  This time I didn't take a seat but hung onto a pole right in front of the doors.  When we arrived at the next stop, the lady came up to me again and pointed out where I should stand.

I carried my grocery bags right to where she had directed me and stood and waited.

But, the areas where the trams stop are very lengthy affairs, and the trams are shorter than their boarding zones.  The next tram was only three cars long, and as it passed by I was quickly aware that it was not stopping - at least not stopping near me.  When it finally did stop, the last car was about thirty feet up the tracks from where I was standing.   I moved as fast as I could, carrying my bags and struggling to keep my jeans from falling down - and got to the tram just as the last car's doors were closing.  

Curses, foiled again!

Not surprisingly I was starting to hear the refrain of the Kingston Trio's "Man Who Never Returned" in my head.    Would I ever see my hotel room again - or Rosie - or my little home and piney acres in the Ozarks?

I finally made it on the third try.

Charlie was a nickel short on his MTA fare because of a rate increase that he hadn't known about - and the conductors would not let him off of the subway without the extra five cents.

"Well did he ever return, no he never returned

And his fate is still unlearned 
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston
He's the man who never returned!"