In reality, I’m one of the cattle. As an aside, let me say that there is no applecart I will sooner upset than that of someone who thinks they can sit with their bag/leg/fatass taking up the seat next to them during rush hour. I have noticed a glare or two from the other inconvenienced passengers, but no one seems to make them move. If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem, you know? The longer we let these a-holes think that they can get away with this, the longer they will. So I have made it my personal agenda to sit next to these people even if there are other seats available. Shit like this ain’t gonna fly on my metro, if you catch my drift.
If it’s not already apparent, I encountered one of these bastards today. The stop for the National Airport is two before I get on, so sometimes travelers and tourists are on the train with the rest of the commuters. There was a guy taking up the whole Freak Seat with his corpulent frame and his two large pieces of luggage (he is probably the same asswipe who wants to put both of those two large pieces of luggage in the carry-on on the plane). When I got on, I simply noticed that there wasn’t a second head next to him and thought there was a free seat. I neared and saw the suitcase on the seat next to him, and prepared to ask which side he would like to sit on, but then saw that he had placed the second suitcase on the floor at the feet of the other seat. At first, I thought I was licked. I was prepared to melt back into the crowd and accept defeat. Suddenly, genius struck.
I stood next to him, with my hand on the bar behind his head. My purse was practically in his lap. My tits were inches from his ear. I saw my breath moving his plugged hair ever so slightly. I figure, if he’s taking up the personal space of two people, he can share some of it with me. He had a chance to do it the easy way. As I towered over this guy, I stared at him, sizing him up: noticing his cheap suit, cheaper tie (adorned with little pictures of CDs), Delta SkyMiles tags on his luggage, messy shave job and his terrible, terrible fake hair. All the while planning things to say to him if he should ask me to move – the train got less and less crowded as the ride wore on, seats even opened up, but I still stood there, tits forcing him to point his eyes at nothing above the awfully dry hands folded in his lap. “Fancy businessman like you can’t afford a cab?” “Did you spend too much on that hair?” “Didn’t save enough with your SkyMiles?” He never asked, but I never budged.
I think some of the other passengers noticed. I saw two of them snickering, so hopefully they will not only remember this, but share it with others. But I’m confident that from now on, Carry-On Guy will think of my tits next time he tries to bring so much luggage on the metro. Whether or not that will dissuade him from doing it is up in the air.