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While it fills me with civic pride to think of the thousands of people who are now pouring onto the 

light rail line to travel safely and cleanly to the new Twins stadium

, it also makes me crazy. Many are newbies and don't know light rail from lite beer. We need an Adopt-A-Newbie program.

 
Even before they board the train you know who they are. Dressed from head to toe in Twins paraphernalia -- jackets, earrings, hats, and tee shirts -- they are white-faced and screaming at the automatic tickets machines, unsure where their debit card goes. They do not have change. They lose their tickets. They push their way to the front of the line. They are strangers in a strange land. 
 

After a recent exhibition game my husband and I were heading home in a sports-induced afterglow when a foursome pushed their way onto our train. They apparently believed that they were at home watching television, for as soon as the doors closed they began offering commentary about their fellow passengers. Orange hair, long fingernails on men, pregnant teenagers -- not much escaped their contempt. 

 
Unfortunately the train paused just outside the stadium, so the foursome began to share details about their own lives with all of us. We tried not to make eye contact. 
 

They were "upscale" bikers who had gone all the way to 

 but didn't actually attend the event because it seemed too rough. Still, they found a very nice hotel with a free breakfast about an hour outside the city and drove around the outskirts of town so they could tell their friends that they had been at the rally. They enjoyed Bloody Marys at Sunday brunch and were in the market for a nice biker bar that served them -- not a rough place, though, a nice place. They lived in Bloomington and were, surprisingly, Cardinals fans. 
 

The train finally started moving again. At the next stop, the Warehouse District, a boisterous group of trash-talking young women squeezed their way into the sea of Twins jackets. Their language was off-color, their volume was cranked up high, and the entire train held its collective breath in anticipation of what the upscale biker foursome would have to say. We didn't have to wait long. 
 

"I bet that one has four welfare babies by four different daddies! Isn't that what they call them? Baby daddies?"

 
The car fell silent. The girls began to whisper, and I thought this would be a great opportunity for the Mayo Clinic. An announcement during the game said the medical center was starting a program to help Twins fans improve their health. I'm pretty sure that if this foursome continues to ride the LRT to and from games, the 

 are not going to be the thing that kills them. 

 
So until the LRT can begin an Adopt-A-Newbie program, here are some helpful hints for riding the rails. 

 We're just not that into you. Yes, your lifelong goal of collecting stamps from countries whose name begins with the letter "A" and your extended rumination upon the alphabetical quandary that "The Untied States of America " poses may be a chick magnet, but we don't care. Really. Unless you're both George Clooney AND have been dipped in chocolate, we just want to go home. 
 

 You may be King of the World, but that attitude didn't get Leo DiCaprio home in time to watch "COPS," did it? Play by the rules. Don't expect to sit in the handicapped seats unless you are disabled, or desire to become disabled by the parent of the child whose wheelchair keeps rolling away because you're pretending you can't read. Give your seat up for pregnant women and the elderly.  

 This is a concealed weapon state. Remember that the next time you decide to reveal your fashion faux pas picks, like 

 Do not confuse the letters LRT (light rail transit) with ER (emergency room). If you have a fever, sore throat, cough, chills, fatigue, and/or headache, go to the ER. If you must take public transportation to get there, cover your mouth when you sneeze or cough. 

 We see you. We hear you. You are the center of our universe. Be content in that, and lower the volume on your iPod, MP3 player, and that phone-sex conversation you're having with your best friend's boyfriend. 

 
The upscale foursome exited a few stops later, without incident, in search of their Bloody Mary biker bar. When the train resumed, a few people laughed at them and I turned to my husband and said, "What do you expect? They were Cards fans."

 
We really do need that Newbie program. Just think what will happen when the Rays arrive. 

, St. Paul, is an award-winning novelist and short-story writer.

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Your fellow passengers might not want to know all about your personal life, just at first.

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