Bong Bing: A Train Story with a Bad Sound Effect

(And, no, it isn't Choo Choo.)

Two tones sounded, low then high. A recorded female voice announced over the speakers, "Caution! The doors are about to close." On any other day, the doors would close. Today, they stayed open.

The train was still at the station and we were a minute from departure. I was sitting at one of the tables on the split-level and had a clear view of the doors and the lower level where commuters sat patiently, waiting for the ride home to get underway. The chimes and voice sounded again, but the doors remained open. On any other day, they would have certainly shut by the third time, but today, they didn't budge, even after the sixth time.

Bong bing. "Caution! The doors are about to close." The man sitting behind me was starting to get annoyed. He shifted in his seat, but didn't attempt to move to another car. He grumbled and continued reading his Wall Street Journal. I pulled out my Palm V and began to chronicle what was going on.

Bong bing. The doors hadn't closed, but the train began pulling out of the station. I checked my watch. We were leaving on time. The baby bullet gradually accelerated to full speed, the perception of its considerable velocity enhanced by the wind tunnel on the lower level. Abandoned newspapers near the doors whipped around violently and people scooted to the other side of the train to avoid the gusts. The only thing preventing the wind from blowing me around was a thin glass partition.

A few more chimes and two conductors came hurtling into the car, keys in hand, rushing for the doors nearest me. The dark-haired one, fictitiously named Thelma, opened the hatch while the lighter-haired Louise gathered the newspapers and stuffed them into the trash receptacle by the partition.

Thelma fiddled with the controls in an attempt to release the doors. They shuddered and after another courteous announcement that the doors were really closing this time, they began to shut slowly. Six inches from closing completely, they stopped abruptly, paused and then reopened swiftly. The recorded voice came on and politely exclaimed, "Suckers!" Okay, in real life, it didn't, but if it had, the moment would have been perfect. Louise looked at Thelma, who gave her a helpless shrug and got a blast of fresh air.

Bong bing. Louise tried to speak into her radio, but couldn't hear anything with the noise of the wind and chimes. She slipped by Thelma and went into the adjoining car. As she disappeared, one of the passengers, a thin, middle-aged man with a goatee and baseball cap, figuring he could accomplish what trained conductors could not, stood up and strolled over to the hatch. Thelma seemed stunned at first and watched as the man ignored her and poked his nose around the various gears and levers. He was just about to reach for one when Thelma tapped him on the shoulder and kindly told him that everything was under control and he could sit his ass back down. He gave her a confused look and she had to repeat herself before he reluctantly took his seat.

Bong bing. The recorded voice continued to make false claims about the doors closing. It was beginning to sound less like a statement of fact and more like wishful thinking. I had lost count of the number of times the chimes had sounded, but by my estimate, dozens seemed like an appropriate measure of quantity.

Bong bing. Louise reappeared holding another set of keys. Thelma threw her hands up as if to say, "Where have you been?" Louise gave her a determined look as she climbed the steps to the split-level, asked the man behind me to move and opened another access hatch. He complied and she gave the controls a good working over, finalizing the sequence with a solid jab to a black button. She then looked over her shoulder to see if it had any effect.

Bong bing. "Caution! The doors are about to close," the recorded voice announced in the same tireless tone, as if this was still news to anybody. Suddenly and surprisingly, the doors did one of the two things they do best. They closed. The roar and ventilation of the wind tunnel on the lower level ceased immediately. For the first time, calm came over the train. Louise sighed in relief and Thelma gave her a thumbs up. If we had been in a movie, somebody would have started the clapping that would have grown into appreciative applause that would have built into an endless standing ovation for the two heroes who had restored peace and order to our world on rails. But this being fictionalized real life, everybody went back to doing whatever he or she were doing without a single sign of gratitude.

Two minutes later, we reached the next station and the doors on the opposite side of the train opened. One or two passengers exited while at least thirty people, completely unaware of what had previously transpired, boarded. I held my breath and waited. Two tones sounded, low then high. A recorded female voice announced over the speakers, "Caution! The doors are about to close." Thankfully, they closed and we traveled on.