It is the first train car in the morning. And the last car at night. It is the protected, vinyl-seated sanctuary of those commuters who are reserved instead of rowdy. Who prefer peacefulness to raucousness. It is, of course, the Quiet Car. That blissful, tranquil escape from those uncivilized train cars that are loud, noisy and occasionally punctuated with a cell phone ring tone of Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” And above our heads, as a quiet warning to those who don’t know how commuting is conducted on the Quiet Car, hang the words we live by. A bullet-pointed manifesto, in black and white (and some cheesy rust color) intended to inform the uninitiated. A set of rules that is most often adhered to, but sometimes broken. And when those times come, as they sometimes do, I will channel my frustration into yet another post. I get to work on my anger management. And hopefully, you get to be entertained. How lucky are we?