Generosity with a side of chili cheese fries

Personally, I’ve always felt Casey Jones, who allegedly drove that train while high on cocaine, was railroaded. Was there trouble ahead? Sure. Trouble behind? You bet. And yes, Mr. Jones was warned about his speed. But for fuck’s sake, the National Transportation Safety Board didn’t even conduct a formal investigation into Mr. Jones!

Thankfully, I belong to a community of like-minded Casey Jones defenders. We stopped holding regular meetings back in ‘95, but the long, strange trip continues, and so the community endures.

Which brings me to the train, not the one Casey Jones allegedly operated under the influence of narcotics, but rather the train that a Los Angeles restaurateur put up on blocks and called Carney’s.

carneytrain

A post shared by Carneys Carneytrain (@carneytrain)

Now, Carney’s is one of those places where everyone is welcome and you’re free to come as you are. Pre-pandemic, Carney’s only had one rule posted on its door: “shirt required.” As far as I know, shoes have always been optional at Carney’s.

But one thing that isn’t optional at Carney’s is money. Those burgers and hot dogs aren’t free because, as the saying goes, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. And lunch is where the trouble starts for the man wearing a faded white t-shirt with The Grateful Dead’s logo on the front, and the band’s 1987 U.S. tour schedule on the back.

The Deadhead tries to pay for his lunch with a credit card. But the credit card is no good, or maybe the machine is on the fritz. The financial aspects of this situation are hazy.

“Do you have another card?” the cashier asks.

“No, man, sorry,” The Deadhead says. “That’s my only card.”

“Cash?”

The Deadhead checks his wallet.

“I got a buck. Can you try the card again?”

The cashier tries the card again. Everyone in line crosses their fingers. Actually, I’m the only one with my fingers crossed, as far as I know. But I do sense an energy in the line, a vibe.

A good vibe.

A lunch vibe.

The Carney’s Community is rooting for the Deadhead to get his lunch. Or, maybe we’re just rooting for the transaction to go through so we can get our lunches. Point is, everyone on the train is on the same track, more or less.

Unfortunately, the financial and technology communities are on the other side of this deal, and they can be fuckers.

“Sorry about that,” the cashier says. “We tried, right?”

“All you can do,” The Deadhead says.

He turns to walk away, but a voice calls out from the back of the line.

“I got this. I’ll pay for him.”

The voice belongs to another Deadhead. He wears tie-dye shorts and a t-shirt that features The Grateful Dead’s iconic dancing bears.

Dancing Bear’s credit card works!

I offer Dancing Bear my spot in line for being so cool. The woman ahead of me offers her spot too. But Dancing Bear isn’t being cool. He is cool. He declines our offers to skip the line, and returns to his spot behind two other customers.

The Deadhead joins Dancing Bear at the back of the line. Introductions are made. I catch their names. The Deadhead is Rick. Dancing Bear is Michael.

One of them lives in the area, the other works nearby. Rick explains how he got into the “boat game,” after getting out of the “journalism hustle.” Michael is in the accounting game, so no explanation is required. Their conversation flows like a jam band performing for a festival crowd.

Obviously, I came here for the finest chili cheese fries in Los Angeles. But I got a Dead show too.

Isn’t that cool?

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