In an era when peaceful travel is made virtually impossible by crying babies and chatty seat mates, travelers cherish the sanctity of the Quiet Car with a devotion that borders on obsession.
“Frequently, my favorite place to be on this earth is the Acela Quiet Car,” says Gayle Trotter, a Washington, D.C.-based attorney and activist who frequently takes Amtrak’s high-speed rail service to New York. “With the noise of my six kids at home and the incessant ringing of the phone, knocking on my door, and buzzing of email at my office, the Quiet Car offers a well-deserved respite from the cares of this world for me.”
Not only is the Quiet Car a noise-free sanctuary from outside intrusions (one of the things I like about it: It spares me from having to answer the inevitable “Are you there yet?” phone calls); it’s an oasis in an ill-mannered world. A world where basic social courtesies have gone from commonplace to optional. Where nice dinners are routinely ruined by loud cell phone talkers. Where movies are drowned out by people talking to the screen. And where the silent masses, cowed by fear or shyness, allow the loudmouths to blab away unchecked.
Not in the Quiet Car. People are polite and respectful. But the second someone whips out a cell phone, the Quiet Car becomes the “Aw, hell no!!!” car.