Trading Bud cans in paper bags for Anchor Steam in proper imperial pint glasses, the Trainjotting crew tipped a few jars at Pershing Square last night, with some lively banter about the Grand Central documentary on PBS, the depth of subway minutia over on SecondAvenueSagas, and G. Francis’s unhealthy obsession with the bathroom cars on the New Haven Line.
We set up a miniature F train on the bar so people might know where to find us, and that sparked the interest of the bartender. I didn’t get his name, but he was a good looking guy in a black t-shirt that looked actorly; you could envision him in Law & Order, playing, well, a bartender, perhaps, and vehemently denying any knowledge of how the woman ended up crammed inside the bar’s ice chest.
The barman picked up our wooden F train, examined it closely, and explained how he was obsessed with trains as a boy. I told him Little G is also obsessed with trains (TJ’s successor in the Trainjotting engine room a few decades down the road?), and we discussed the merits of toys that require elbow grease and imagination to work, as opposed to seeing how many times you can hit the Fire button on a video console.
His face had lit up as he kept examining the little F train and spinning the wheels, and you could see how the thing instantly took him back to being 10.
A good time was had by all, though I still can’t figure out how I had 20 minutes to get from Pershing Square to Grand Central across the street, yet still did not have enough time to secure a little Two Boots for the ride.