A couple weeks ago Tony, got on a train leaving San Francisco; (probably none too soon). Specifically he boarded The Philadelphia Express. As one would guess and according the ticket and the railroad’s published schedule, he was to rattle-and-chug from San Francisco to Philadelphia. All was fine till the train got to the environs of St. Louis, then BAM!. The train took a hard swing to port (or maybe it’s just plain left on a train) right off the tracks heading across the prairie and marsh and erstwhile-swamp-turned-wetland toward points north. And it just kept going—although it was unspeakably uncomfortable running off without a track. Dangerous, even. So much so that the conductor insisted all passengers shut up, stay sat, and close their eyes or face the caboose annex now serving as Train Jail. Tony is bit of a libertarian, so he spoke nonetheless, “This isn’t the way to Philly! Where are you taking us?”

A black pall fell over the car, “To Canada!”, the conductor yelled, then, according to Tony, he laughed one of those mad scientist laughs and his eyes started glowing red and fiery. But that isn’t the scary part. The real horror was that a group of passengers who were from San Fran, mostly same-sex newlywed couples,and transgendered single “mothers” with children who played non-competitive soccer, squealed with delight. They were glad to be going to Canada. On a train without tracks. As prisoners.

Try as he might, Tony just couldn’t seem to do anything to get the train-powers-that-be to correct its course. He pointed out that the train was originally and unequivocally supposed to be going to Philadelphia. That is what the schdedule said, what the ticket said, what the tracks said, since the tracks they had left were clearly bound for the East Coast, and of course that is what the train’s name indicated. Nothing, absolutely nothing, said anything whatever about Canada. The clearest proof—beyond the ticket stubs and the signs reading The Philadephia Express in every imaginable place was the lack of any tracks laid in the direction of the aforementioned semi-nation. But the train crew and the four Happy Canada wannabes would hear none of it. In fact, in a strange, pod-people movie fashion, they started claiming that the train was always intended for Canada, right from the beginning. When Tony pointed to the printed, stamped and engraved evidence to the contrary they just ignored him. The sinister conductor went so far as to question Tony’s vocabulary. “Who really knows what they meant by Philadelphia, anyway?”, he said, “It may have meant Canada to the people that named the train, wrote the schedule and printed the tickets. How could we possibly know for sure? Canada is a better, safer, destination. And in any case, since we aren’t relying on those oppressive tracks, we can go wherever we decide we originally wanted to go”. ”

Longer story short, about a thousand miles off course in the desolation of Sakitoba or somesuch, Tony was able to muster enough passengers to overpower the left-turners (harder than you might think. They can hug you to death) and turn the train back onto some tracks that were going in the general direction of Philly. Most passengers, after all, wanted to go to Philadelphia, or at least knew that Philadelphia was where they were supposed to be going, but were just too busy or sound asleep to realize what was happening. Even with all the bumps. But it was close! One guy (also named Tony coincidentally) who usually worked as a cocktail waitress in the workers’ union free-dining car, was feeling unusually assertive and manly that day and ended up making the difference.

Here is the kicker: As soon as the train was back on the tracks headed where it was supposed to be headed, the barely defeated Canadaphiles started whining and spitting with outrage because Tony and his allies had changed the course of the train. Yes, you read right. They were incensed to the point of tears that The Philadelphia Express had been pointed toward Philadelphia. “How dare you ignore a thousand miles worth of travel toward such a noble direction and impose your destinational activism on us!” they sniffed and snorted, “You have no right to pirate a train bound for its proper destination! You are a hijacker! A kidnapper! A violator of the most cherished right to safe travel by rail! Now you are forcing us to the Paleolithic dangers of Philadelphia, of all places, where there is far too much freedom that can be abused, and an utter lack of hate crimes protection or sodomy rights!”

Tony didn’t really know how to respond to this. He shrugged, “Learn to read, guys. “ he said. Then he added, “And if you don’t feel safe in Philly, buy a gun.”