I was late. I just knew I was. Waiting at the stoplight, in the left turn lane, I could see the red lights flashing at the railroad crossing. It meant the train was pulling into the station and I had about a minute to turn, park and board the train. It wasn't looking good.

The light turned green and I hauled the sedan around the concrete median and pulled into the second driveway. I could see the last passengers boarding as I wheeled around cars and planters to stop abruptly in an empty stall. It was going to be close. I was losing hope and picturing myself futilely running towards a departing train. But as quickly as my imagination was churning, my muscles were moving faster.

I yanked the key from the ignition, grabbed my bag, opened and locked the door in one motion and then jammed from the car, slamming the door closed behind me. I could see the two conductors standing on the steps of the train. I was at least two hundred feet away. One had his arm raised, holding the key above the doors, ready to close them. He surveyed the lot one last time and saw me sprinting. Telepathically, I sent him a message, "Please keep it open five more seconds!"

He must have heard me and motioned with his other hand to keep coming. For an instant I thought it would be the greatest practical joke to make me run all the way there, only to "accidentally" close the door at the last moment. He would smile and say, "Oops. Did I do that?" To my relief, nothing like that happened. As I reached the first steps, the kind conductor smiled and said, "Welcome aboard. Good hustle!"