Take Grandma Back to Her Seat

My head falls to one side, which wakes me.

I see I’m on a train, but I don’t know why I’m on the train. I reach for my cellphone and look around for my laptop bag. Nothing. What the hell?

I bend over, look under the seat, and realize I have a surgical boot on my foot. Bunion surgery again? Why can't I remember?

I feel groggy. Have I been drugged? The train conductor is coming down the aisle.

“Ticket?” he asks.

“I seem to have misplaced it.”

He frowns, “Name?”

“Sharon, I think.”

“Well, Sharon-I-think, where are you going today?”

“I can’t remember.”

"You can't remember. Excuse me.” He picks up his phone. "I've got a passenger here without a ticket in seat 145. She isn't sure of her name. Maybe on something. Yes, thanks.”

A few minutes later, a kid in a uniform arrives. He looks barely older than Ethan. Wait, Ethan!

“I have a grandson named Ethan!” I blurt out.

The Ethan-lookalike rolls his eyes. "Yes, you told me that before, Mrs. Zapato." He turns to the conductor and says, "She was in seat 25 before. Maybe she came back to the quiet car for, you know, like, quiet.” He turns back to me, “Do you need help getting back to your seat, Mrs. Zapato?”

“It would be good if you go first and make sure nothing is in the aisle to block my way,” I say. I need help figuring out where seat 25 is, but I didn’t want to say so.

Walking on a moving train in a surgical boot is pretty tricky. We navigate through two train cars when a speaker suddenly blares, “Code 6451, mechanic-on-duty.”

My Ethan-escort gestures, "Seat 25. Here you go." Then he rushes off.

I see my red laptop bag and cellphone on the seat. Weird that I just left it. I always keep my cellphone with me. Except I hadn’t.

When I sit down, a red-haired woman across the aisle begins talking.

“Your phone was ringing,” she says. "A lot. You should check for messages."

I pick up the phone.

Missed Calls – Bob(5)

I see Bob left a voicemail 5 minutes ago, so I play it.

"Can you call me already? Where are you?" he sounds annoyed.

I’m so relieved at being able to picture my husband Bob that I don’t mind his irritation. As for where I am, I still can’t remember.

“Where did you go before?” the red-haired woman asks.

“What?”

“You left your seat like two hours ago. Since you left your phone and laptop bag, I figured you went to the bathroom. But no one needs that long on the toilet. They don't have a café car on this train, so where'd you go?"

Before I can answer, she continues, "I love your red laptop bag. I had one like that, but in pink, but my dog Taco chewed the handle. Really my daughter's dog, only her landlord, was a total loser. So, she had to switch apartments so she couldn't keep the dog, and now Taco lives with me.”

With Redhead still talking, I now remember why I went to the Quiet car.

Passengers walk by us in the aisle, assembling at the door for the next stop. I look through the photos on my phone. Each face on my phone has a name in my brain – James, Dave, Michaela, Margo, Paul, Bob, Ethan.

I am Sharon Zapato – married, 3 kids, 2 grandkids, age 70. I am… missing giant pieces of my memory. Like why am I on this train? Where am I going?

The speaker blares another announcement, “Code 6451, mechanic-on-duty.”

Code 6451? That sounds oddly familiar.

“Hey!” a man shouts, “you didn’t stop for Charlesburg. Why didn’t the train stop?”

“Where’s the conductor?” a woman demands.

I glance out the window and see a train station with a large parking lot fading from view. The train hasn't slowed at all. The passengers waiting to get off are shouting.

I call Bob, but I get his voicemail. So I leave a message, "Hi, hon. I'm on the train. I fell asleep for a while. Talk to you soon. Bye."

I try to remember again. I'm Sharon Zapato - married, 3 kids, 2 grandkids, age 70. I work for, no, worked for?

Then I remember. I worked for BNTTA, the train company in software, but I’m retired. I think. Why am I on this train? I need coffee to try and wake up.

The passengers who were trying to get off in Charlesburg have cleared out in search of the conductor. I turn to Redhead, "You said there's no café car?"

“Right,” she says, "we had this discussion before, remember? You needed food to take your pain meds for your foot, but no café car, so I gave you one of my chocolate-caramel protein bars. Also - I think you took your pain meds twice. Once before you ate the bar and again when you finished. I tried to warm you, but you didn't seem to hear."

This is my first clue of what might be wrong with me. I smile at Redhead for this clue and the earlier food. She is kind, even if too chatty.

I remember that I usually stash sports jelly beans with caffeine in the pocket of my laptop bag. Weird which details are clear to me and which aren't. I rip open a bag of beans and begin eating them. I also accept a bottle of water from my neighbor, who seems to be a mini-grocery on wheels.

I look out the window and try to clear my mind. I’m on the train because… I still can’t figure that part out. I had to retire from BNTTA, a mandatory retirement because of my age.

“Sharon, what do you think is up with the train?” Redhead asks.

"You know my name?" I ask. I'm horrified as soon as the words are out of my mouth. What if this woman is my best friend and I've forgotten that?

"I'm great with names," she replies. "We introduced ourselves three hours ago. I'm Nancy, in case you forgot."

"Ah, yes, Nancy. Thanks!"

“So, what do you think is up with the train?” she asks, “with not stopping in Charlesburg. I haven't seen a single train employee since. People are pissed. The next stop is Athens. I guess we'll see what happens there."

As if on cue, a woman and a little boy wander down the aisle and stop just in front of us.

“Are we stopping in Athens?” the woman asks to everyone and no one.

The Athens train station appears. I see people on the platform waiting for the train. We are traveling very fast, too fast to stop, and sure enough, we roar through the Athens train station, much to the dismay of the mom and boy.

“This can’t be,” the mother says. "I bought a ticket to Athens. I demand they stop the train now.”

Her son echoes, “Stop the train now!”

Nancy turns to me, “What do you think is going on? That announcement they keep making, ‘Code 6451’? Now they've missed two stops?”

I think about the earlier announcement.

Code 6451 had sounded familiar. “Code 6451," I repeat, waiting to see what it makes me think of, and the answer is awful. Code 6451 is an autopilot failure.

I literally wrote the training manual for this condition when I worked at BNTTA. Shit.

Ten years ago, trains ran by people controlling them and they had a safety system that would override to prevent human error. Then someone decided to make the trains run on autopilot. Humans would only get involved and control the train if there was a problem in the autopilot system. But the autopilot system never failed. Until now.

Every train operator must complete the "Autopilot Failure" module in training, but then they never use the information. Until now. Would anyone remember the training?

I have to go help.

I get up and hurry, as fast as I can clump along towards the front of the train.

When I arrive at the front car, the locomotive, I find an angry mob.

A man in a suit is pounding on the door.

"You cowards come out and explain what's going on! How the hell are you going to fix this?"

A woman is crying, “I’m going to miss my daughter’s wedding.”

“This is ridiculous,” another man says, “They raise ticket prices, but the service gets worse and worse!”

I try to work through the crowd but can't reach the door.

"Excuse me," I say, "Can you please let me through? I think I can help."

But no one pays any attention. I notice a young girl leaning against the wall with a beautiful silver whistle on a silver chain around her neck.

“Does your whistle work?” I ask and gesture towards it.

"Oh, do you like it? Kate Middleton wore a whistle necklace to a palace tea. So I had to get one. Sure, they work. Do you want to hear?"

“Yes,” I say, “please blow it loudly.”

The girl obliges. She really lets lose. The shouting stops.

“Attention, everyone!” I say. "I need your attention. I work for the BNTTA, and you are all in potential danger. The train's autopilot isn't working properly. There is some risk of derailment. If a derailment happens, the closer you are to the front, the greater the risk. Please go back to your seats calmly. Go sit down and buckle your seat belts."

My whistle-blowing friend freaks out, "Oh, my GOD. You mean we’re going to CRASH! I'm too young to die." She takes off down the aisle, and others follow.

I stand alone.

I knock on the door of the locomotive. No one looks up. They are hunched over the dashboard arguing.

I pound on the door. Ethan (let's just call him that) looks up. He shakes his head.

I pound again. Another man looks over.

“Go away,” he shouts.

Next to the door, a keypad lock is labeled "Restricted Access, BNTTA Employees Only.” It’s just like the box on the building where I worked for 20 years. My employee access should have been ended months ago when I retired. But it’s worth a try.

"Come on, brain," I say and enter my employee number - 9883639.

“Passcode?” the system prompts.

19520312. I hit enter, and the door opens. No one looks up.

“Reboot the GPS!” one man says.

“I did already.”

“Flip the autopilot switch to off,” I say.

“I tried, but it didn't work.”

“The GPS is clearly wrong," the conductor says, "that's why we missed the station stops. Where does it think we are?"

“Middle of Wyoming.”

“Wyoming! We’ve been hacked! They must be feeding the GPS signal in from another location."

“We don't have time to figure out what's wrong with the autopilot system," I say. "We just have to turn it off."

"Didn't you hear? We tried. Who the hell are you anyway?" the conductor asks. "Could someone show Grandma back to her seat?"

“I wrote the training manual section on autopilot failure,” I answer.

"Wait! Is this a drill? Oh, praise Jesus, this must be a drill," the conductor says.

“It’s not a drill. We HAVE to slow down NOW or we'll never make the turns north of Danville. Remember the derailment in 2005? We need to get off of autopilot now.”

“2005 – yes, the conductor was fired and put on trial. Not on my watch. If the autopilot switch isn't working, we've been hacked.”

“Hacked or not, you need to turn off the autopilot. Pull the circuit breaker. It's the next step.”

"She's right," Ethan says. He looks sheepish, "I just finished training last week, so I remember.” He recites as though reading from a manual, “If the autopilot fails or misreads the train’s location, turn it off by flipping its power switch. If that fails, pull the autopilot circuit breaker.”

The conductor hesitates.

“Would you rather die than take advice from us?” I ask. "28 people died in 2005. 5 of them were kids in the neighborhood where the train derailed."

"Go ahead," the conductor says. Ethan leans over and opens an electrical panel.

“Which circuit breaker is it?” Ethan asks.

"The one labeled 'AP' for autopilot," I answer.

“There aren’t any labels.”

Dammit! I realize the photos we include in the training module are over 10 years old. We never checked if they’re accurate today.

“It was the bottom right in the photo,” I say.

“The photo that we know is wrong because it shows labels that aren’t here?” the conductor asks.

“Do you know a better option?” I ask.

The train rocks wildly. We are still gaining speed.

“Pull the lower right circuit breaker,” the conductor orders.

Ethan does. Nothing feels different.

"Look, the autopilot light is off," I say. "Try the manual controls again."

An engineer presses the brake. The train lurches violently from the braking action. We have control again.

"Thank God," the conductor says. "Now, who is driving the rest of the way?"

My part is done, so I leave.

Nancy calls to me as I approach our seats. "Oh, Sharon!" she says, "Sit down and buckle up. People came by and said we could crash."

"We think we're okay now," I tell her. "But sure, I'll buckle up, just in case."

“Code 6451,” I think to myself, "autopilot failure. What are the odds that I'd be on the first train it happened on? And why am I on this train?”

An announcement is made, "Next station is Riverside, and I'm pleased to say we will be stopping this time.” A cheer goes up from the passengers.

I see a van saying “WRGT" so someone got the word out about the runaway train. I also see Bob waving to me from the platform.

Riverside? This is my stop?

The next day I will read about the runaway train. The article says that the head of BNTTA has ordered a task force to evaluate the autopilot system. They praise new-hire Paul Petersen as the hero in disabling the autopilot and restoring control. No mention of me. That's okay. I know what I did.

As for why I was on the train? I remembered the reason when I got off. But that's another story for another day.