No-one will sit next to me
Maybe it’s this new brand of deodorant that I’ve started using. Is something caught in between my teeth? Is there something about the way I look that is objectionable?
There is a phenomenon I’ve started observing - I’ve come to the realisation that I am someone who people don’t sit next to on public transport. I could be on the most packed bus, train or ferry and the only guarantee is that if there is an empty seat next to me, it will stay that way until all other options are exhausted by my fellow passengers.
I can’t say that I was initially disturbed when I first noticed this talent, rather the converse. No doubt, it must seem quite a handy skill to possess – after all, who hasn’t boarded a hot, crowded train after a hard day and dreamt of a bit of space? Most people head straight for the 3-seaters, no doubt hoping the empty seat beside them will somehow get overlooked in the mob rush. My strategy has always been far simpler – I sit in the 2-seaters, because I know that even on a delayed, overcrowded, peak hour, midst-of-a-train-strike journey, no one will sit next to me.
My glee quickly dissipated, however, as I began to notice a repetition in this behaviour. People don’t just ignore me … they stare, as if to read my deepest, darkest secrets. With one quick glance, every passenger decides that I have got some kind of stigma, such that they can’t handle being in close quarters for a twenty minute ride to work. Over a period of hundreds of days and thousands of passengers giving me evil stares, I’ve begun to form a complex.
The culmination for me was this morning when a woman, bus filled to capacity, stared at me for a good 5 seconds, clearly contemplating whether she should compromise herself and her safety, before sitting down.
I’ve learnt that regardless of my body language, my fellow passengers are indiscriminate. Whether I am upright or lounged, whether I squeeze all the way into the corner to create space, or spread myself out to take up as much room as possible. Whether I greet each passing passenger with a smile, or put on a blank and sleepy expression. Whether I am travelling in school uniform (not that I travel in school uniform much anymore), casual clothes or am on my way to work, the results are the same. I am destined to travel a lifetime alone on public transport.
If this is a real condition, there must be a method of diagnosis. I posed the question to a co-worker this morning – “Are you the kind of person who people sit next to on public transport?” He looked at me as though I’d just lost the plot. Another co-worker knew exactly how I felt, having travelled solitary on numerous occasions. Clearly, therefore, the question is the test itself – if you understand the question, chances are you suffer this cursed affliction.
Maybe, like in air travel, the issue is that I look like a conversational neighbour - something to avoid wherever possible. I guess my solution should be to carry a sign around my neck saying “It’s OK, I won’t talk to you.” Then, everyone will want to sit next to me. Right?
There is a phenomenon I’ve started observing - I’ve come to the realisation that I am someone who people don’t sit next to on public transport. I could be on the most packed bus, train or ferry and the only guarantee is that if there is an empty seat next to me, it will stay that way until all other options are exhausted by my fellow passengers.
I can’t say that I was initially disturbed when I first noticed this talent, rather the converse. No doubt, it must seem quite a handy skill to possess – after all, who hasn’t boarded a hot, crowded train after a hard day and dreamt of a bit of space? Most people head straight for the 3-seaters, no doubt hoping the empty seat beside them will somehow get overlooked in the mob rush. My strategy has always been far simpler – I sit in the 2-seaters, because I know that even on a delayed, overcrowded, peak hour, midst-of-a-train-strike journey, no one will sit next to me.
My glee quickly dissipated, however, as I began to notice a repetition in this behaviour. People don’t just ignore me … they stare, as if to read my deepest, darkest secrets. With one quick glance, every passenger decides that I have got some kind of stigma, such that they can’t handle being in close quarters for a twenty minute ride to work. Over a period of hundreds of days and thousands of passengers giving me evil stares, I’ve begun to form a complex.
The culmination for me was this morning when a woman, bus filled to capacity, stared at me for a good 5 seconds, clearly contemplating whether she should compromise herself and her safety, before sitting down.
I’ve learnt that regardless of my body language, my fellow passengers are indiscriminate. Whether I am upright or lounged, whether I squeeze all the way into the corner to create space, or spread myself out to take up as much room as possible. Whether I greet each passing passenger with a smile, or put on a blank and sleepy expression. Whether I am travelling in school uniform (not that I travel in school uniform much anymore), casual clothes or am on my way to work, the results are the same. I am destined to travel a lifetime alone on public transport.
If this is a real condition, there must be a method of diagnosis. I posed the question to a co-worker this morning – “Are you the kind of person who people sit next to on public transport?” He looked at me as though I’d just lost the plot. Another co-worker knew exactly how I felt, having travelled solitary on numerous occasions. Clearly, therefore, the question is the test itself – if you understand the question, chances are you suffer this cursed affliction.
Maybe, like in air travel, the issue is that I look like a conversational neighbour - something to avoid wherever possible. I guess my solution should be to carry a sign around my neck saying “It’s OK, I won’t talk to you.” Then, everyone will want to sit next to me. Right?
posted by The Groin at 2:24 pm
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