Amtrak to passengers: Keep Out!!

Gee, what a nice way to greet dining car patrons!

A reliable rail industry source who wishes not to be named related this story to me from on board a recent trip on Amtrak 19, the long-distance Crescent. The words speak for themselves. They are unedited:

I’ve ridden Amtrak tens of thousands of miles, and I’ve become pretty tolerant of service and actions that are mediocre, even bordering on terrible. I usually try to just enjoy the ride.

(Editor’s Note: The mediocre are always at their best.)

Tonight is one of those nights that amazes even me.

We departed Washington D.C. a little late: 6:40 pm (6:30 schedule). A few passengers in my coach (including me) asked the conductor when the dining car would be open. The reply: “We’ll make an announcement when we are ready.”

After about 10 minutes (and after my ticket was scanned), I decided to walk back to the lounge car to wait there for the dining car to open. As I walked out of the last coach, a barricade preventing entry even into the lounge car confronted me (see above photo).

It wasn’t until about 7:10 pm that any food or beverages were available—40 minutes after scheduled departure, and well after many passengers would like food service. The train of four coaches and two sleeping cars was sold out, so about 300 passengers were kept waiting for unexplained reasons.

After dinner (which was pretty good) I set up in the lounge car, where I noted that three full tables were reserved for crew, while the specially built and equipped conductor’s room was used to store crew luggage.

I didn’t notice the sign on the third reserved table, and when I sat down, the lounge car attendant promptly informed me I couldn’t sit there. I had to ask where I could sit.

At about 9 pm, the lounge car attendant went on “dinner break”. I didn’t hear an announcement. I wasn’t paying close attention, but she was gone for 45 minutes or more. Then she reopened, only to close up shop at about 10:40 pm for the night, definitely without an announcement.

When passengers later turned up looking for service, the conductor (or assistant conductor) got up to tell them, “She’s closed.” This, while “she” was sitting at her special reserved table doing inventory.

After the first group of disappointed passengers left the car, the conductor was looking at her.  She then said to him, “What are you looking at? I’m off at 11. Do you want me to work overtime? I’m tired.” She was tired after providing evening service that lasted about 2.5 hours?

I’m in no position to say if morale is declining as a result of Amtrak President Richard Anderson’s or deputy Stephen Gardner’s apparent interest in killing some or all of Amtrak’s long-distance trains, but I can tell you authoritatively that morale among this crew, on this night, was decidedly bad.

Oh, and the “off-duty” lounge car attendant did have the time to go back and discover that a table of three well-mannered men were drinking from a bottle of their own liquor. She indignantly called the conductor to confiscate the “contraband.” When the conductor passed me, I stopped her and said, “I can’t believe what I saw tonight, but since the lounge car has been open only intermittently for about two and a half hours, I think those guys needed to bring their own liquor tonight.”

She took my comment in stride.

Another thing that seemed odd: Toward the end of our wait for the dining car to open, the chef walked through our coach, coming from the front of the train (I presume one of the new baggage/dorms). So were we waiting on him, or did he know something we didn’t?

On what well-managed, viable transportation service would this situation be allowed to exist?