Hi. 
I’m the mustachioed conductor yelling “allllll aboard” at the train station and I love to watch you kiss.
You probably don’t think about me much when you’re locked in your lover’s arms, saying ta-ta with your tongues as steam from the engine swirls around you. I’m fairly busy myself, trying to collect tickets and get this train a-movin’. But I always manage to spot you embracing on the platform. And I always like what I see.
We conductors have a reputation for sternness, but the truth is we are a lenient bunch. We’ll give you ample time to snog before we chugga-chugga. I’ve delayed trains for hours at a time just to let couples wet each other’s face holes before departure. It’s hard not to become a romantic yourself when you spend your days penetrating through this great, fertile land in a big hot machine.
But not to worry, I am still able to perform my duties with efficiency even though I’m watching you kissy-wissy. Conductors must develop an ability to multitask if we are to be successful and also enjoy our lives. I still punch tickets and take old ladies’ luggage; I yell “Welcome aboard!” or “Madam, quiet that child!” when necessary. I do all this and still find time to dart my beady eyes around the station and see who’s smooching who.
Some people find it “creepy” and “weird” that I watch people swap spit while my big train heats up. I cannot help it. There’s flesh and blood behind my thick mustache and my little blue cap. I’m not ashamed to love your love.
Sometimes I’ll even try to guess which one of you will stop kissing the other one first. No matter how long I do this, I’m always wrong. But I don’t mind, and I don’t ever give up. It’s just a way to pass the time while you impart saliva to your paramour as I watch from my train.
When I need to calm myself down, I take my little golden pocket watch out of my vest pocket and give it a gander. I give it a little shake and sometimes I’ll even hold it up to my ear to make sure it’s a-tickin’. We conductors love a little golden pocket watch, especially when they have a little golden chain attached. It gives us a sense of security and something to wind and fondle while you get nasty on the platform.
The time on the pocket watch is irrelevant. When you’re locking lips with your love at the train station, you enter a space free from myopic concepts like time—and I’m right there with you both all the while, watching, floating, along for the ride.
Along with my pocket watch, I have a little pair of glasses—“peepers,” I call them. They’re always perched precariously on the tip of my nose, but they never fall off (never). They tend to get foggy, though, and, you guessed it, it’s not because of the steam engine. Rather, it’s from those steamy public displays of affection particular to train stations.
Why am I telling you all this? Perhaps it is so you understand that when I yell, “Allllllllll board,” I’m not trying to rush you. I’m yelling out this command in my deep, baritone voice for the same reason a teapot whistles: to release the tension boiling up inside. It’s got to go somewhere or I’ll pass out (it’s happened before).
The conductor lives his life wedged between the very best of our shared existence: the sharp sadness of parting, the fragrant joy of greeting—two ends of human emotion, pushed up against a wall and squeezed until their juices spill out and flood my train station. I only thank god I have eyes to mop it all up with.
I feel that sometimes the best way to “conduct” is not to conduct at all, but rather to let life and love happen wherever and whenever and just enjoy the train ride. So don’t be shy. And don’t mind me. Come aboard. All aboard. I know I am.