That subway seat dance:
1. It becomes obvious the person directly in front of me is exiting. I wait for the person to gather their bags and prepare to sit.
2. As I’m graciously allowing the former occupant to stand, a girl (literally) dashes across the train and slips into the seat. Her father nods in approval. They’re each carrying numerous plastic bags.
3. I glare at the girl, then remember the recent NY Times article about the hidden homeless and momentarily feel bad. What if she rose at 4 AM to leave her homeless shelter and attend school 3 transfers away? She should sit.
4. An additional seat opens, which I take. It is between an obese woman taking up 1.75 seats and an a small teenage girl sleeping with her head smushed against a pole, half her body tipping to the other side of the pole and toward my shoulders.
5. A woman with a heavy backpack and two additional bags — one contains a coffee mug, so even though it’s 10 PM, she’s probably been out all day — sees the .25 of a seat between myself and the obese woman. I try to move over toward the sleeping teenager to make room, but more of the sleeping teenager shifts toward me.
6. I make eye contact with the woman and shrug in apology. Our eyes dart from obese woman to sleeping woman to that tiny fraction of a seat. You could put your bags down? I say. It’s ok, she replies.
7. I make eye contact with a woman reading what looks like a smart book on the other side of the train. She surveys the situation then meets my eyes again. We both start laughing.
8. A very small woman enters the train and approaches the .25 of a seat. The obese woman moves over, freeing just enough space to sit. The woman with the backpack sighs, visibly.
9. The woman with the smart book and I meet eyes again and laugh again. The sleeping girl tilts perilously close to my lap.
10. The woman with the book gets up and the woman with the backpack gets her seat.
11. The sleeping girl wakes up with a start, then noticeably starts reading the magazine I’m reading over my shoulder. I glance up at her, her face creased with nap wrinkles, and she grins sheepishly. I fold out the magazine so she can see better. She keeps reading, then gets off at the next stop.
