The grumpy and condescending Amtrak agent behind the counter said with an almost smirk, "Sorry. They're not letting anyone else board at this time."
"But the overhead TV screen says '12:15 train to Seattle boarding now.' It was 12:10. "Why?" I asked pleadingly. I had already extended my Portland visit for another night, and now I just wanted to be home.
"Nope. They're no longer boarding." Period. Paragraph.
"When can I get another train to Olympia, then?"
"Not until tomorrow. All sold out for today. Try Greyhound," he answered as he dismissed me away into the throngs of travelers.
And that was that. No compassion. No sincere apologies. No offer for assistance. Just that almost smirk.
Shocked and in disbelief, I stumbled outside into the sunlight on this late August sunny Portland day feeling helpless. Not only was I shocked that I had missed my train, but also shocked at the total lack of compassion from the Amtrak agent.
Making it as far as the bench outside the train station, I sat. And as I sat, tears welled up and flowed. Yet in the midst of the tears, I also knew my heart was telling me that I was not alone. That I knew for sure. I was in a very uncomfortable situation, yet deep down where it really, truly mattered, I knew that I was not alone. The warm sun was shining down on me and I strongly felt a presence. A presence of peace. I knew my angels were surrounding me. I knew there was a solution. I just had not discovered it yet.
After a good cry, I walked across the street to the Greyhound station and heard overhead, "Northbound to Seattle boarding." My hopes soared, yet were quickly deflated as the Greyhound agent told me the same thing - all buses were sold out for today. Nothing until tomorrow. She did not have a smirk though.
I found my way back to my bench, looked up car rentals on my phone only to discover one-way car rentals were exorbitant. I explored the option of ride shares, but nothing was available. The thought of hitchhiking came into my mind, but I just could not envision me on I-5 with my thumb out.
I had spoken with my daughter in Portland and my husband in Olympia and both offered to journey halfway to meet later in the day to get me home, but I would not wish that on them for anything, as Monday morning comes so early and both of them treasure their Sunday evenings.
It was at this point that I truly allowed myself the luxury of a meltdown. Right there in front of the world in sunny downtown Portland, I sobbed my heart out. I was overcome with helplessness. I felt sad and stranded and just wanted to be home. As travelers were coming and going and looking my way, I didn't even try to stop the buckets of tears.
When my tears were exhausted, I dried my face and went back into the station to get a refund on my ticket. That was at least something. One step at a time, right? But I had no clue as to the next one.
As I approached the ticket counter, lo and behold, a new Amtrak agent was in front of me. This one seemed different. I felt it the moment I walked up to him. He seemed to exude kindness, gentleness and compassion. As I told him my story, he apologized. Sincerely. He said he was so sorry for the inconvenience, and immediately began typing into his computer screen when I handed him my ticket.
It was then that the magic happened.
"We can get you on the 2:45. Will that work?"
"What?" I exclaimed. "Really?"
"Yes. They start assigning seats at 2:15," he said in his kind voice.
Why on earth didn't the first agent tell me this? Why did he tell me there was absolutely nothing until the next day? Did something magically open up in a matter of minutes? Or did he just overlook the fact that a seat was available on the next train?
I don't know. But I do know this. Even in the midst of my meltdown, feeling frantic and helpless, I still knew and felt that I wasn't alone. It would all work out. I didn't know how, but I knew it would. And it's that inner knowing and the peace that no one can take away, that I'm truly grateful for today. And kind, compassionate Amtrak agents.
