At the 5:00 rush hour.
Always an adventure.
My friend and I were sitting perpendicular to the seat reserved for handicapped passengers, next to the door. It was occupied by a young man industriously texting. With his knees at 10 and 2 - his feet planted squarely in the aisle.
When the train stopped, the exiting passengers all managed to move around those size 12 boats in the aisle. However, one of the passengers entering the train wasn't so observant. He rolled over a set of toes with his computer bag.
Texter leapt to his feet, "Hey!"
Computer Bag: "What?"
"You rolled over my foot!"
"What? ... sorry."
Computer Bag apologized a total of 3 times.
Finally Texter backs off, acknowledges us, his weary captive audience, with a couple nods. And, with a manner pompous enough to make Donald Trump look modest, announces, "I accept your apology." He then sits back down, returns his feet to the 10 and 2 position in the aisle, and resumes texting.
I am wild to give him a little piece of advice, "Hey! Fellow! you want some respect? Pull up your pants you moron!" But my instinct for self-preservation is stronger than my urge to point out the obvious. Even though I'm pretty sure I could outrun someone handicapped by their pants like that.
But I know an unplanned, high-speed sprint through the BART station would upset my friend, so I settled for joining the rest of the passengers in rolling their eyes.
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