The Quiet Car

I ride a commuter train to and from work everyday and occasionally I accidentally, regrettably, end up sitting in the quiet car.

If you’re not a commuter you might be unacquainted with the idea of a quiet car. It is what it says it is: a train car where you are supposed to be quiet. No talking. No phone ringing. No music leaking out of your headphones. I call it the train car of silent tension.

A few years ago NJ Transit declared the first and last cars of all morning and evening commuter trains to be quiet cars. They had little signs printed up that read “Quiet Commute” with the “mute” in “commute” highlighted.

I don’t think NJ Transit invented the idea of the quiet car. But their conductors and passengers, well some of them, love to enforce it. Violate the rules in the quiet car and several self-appointed quiet car monitors will put you in your place with a tone of voice that is so sternly condescending that your victorian great grandmother would be right at home.

My problem with the quiet car is that somebody always breaks the rules and gets scolded. And I’m just not the sort of guy who enjoys the sight of one human being being a righteous jerk to another human being. The quiet car is the only place I’ve ever been where it’s ok for adults to act like conceited little kindergarteners.

I can’t concentrate or relax in the quiet car because I’m just waiting for some poor oblivious victim to innocently answer a call, make a comment to a friend, or forget to turn the volume down on their phone.

I think people ride the quiet car not for the quiet but for the chance to rebuke the guilty who transgress the sacred decree of the car of silence. “Thou hast made a peep and thou shalt be most vigorously censored!”

I only ride the quiet car when I have no choice, when the rest of the train is full, when I find myself in not so quiet desperation for a seat.

I’d like to observe that quiet cars were probably a great idea in the 1950s or 60s. But now we have inexpensive headphones. Instead of making everyone uncomfortable you can just pop a pair of headphones on your cranky victorian-minded gray haired noggin and listen to soothing national anthems or the sounds of suburban lawns growing. With the marvelous invention of headphones you can allow the rest of us to catch up with a friend, take an important call, or just take a nap without having to fear a sudden outburst of “Sir! Sir! Miss! Miss! This is the QUIET CAR! You can’t talk here! No Talking!”

But the way, I just want to point out that the quiet car is not only elitist but kind of classist and racist as well. Almost always the rule breaker is Italian or from a non-Waspy culture where talking is what you do when you are sitting next to a friend or family member. But in the quiet car the uptight, my-ancestors-are-better-than-your-ancestors, people rule.

If we must have a quiet car, and it seems they are not going away, then I must insist that we have a shouting car. It’s only fair. In the shouting car people can let out all that tension built up from riding in the quiet car and even TYPE IN ALL CAPS while texting.