“Hey, lady!  Don’t stand on the tracks to take pictures of passing trains!  I’ve got a schedule to keep, and I’m about to sing you the song of my train people.  It’s a nice, long whistle.  I like to do it at a volume that shatters windows and glass microwave doors.  The railroad dictates that I blast that sound every four seconds, to keep caribou and looky-lous, like you, off the rails.  My apologies, but it’s in my contract.”