The Aisle Seat

The existence of, and rationale behind, a certain demographic baffles me: the people who sit on the outer seat on the metro while the inner half of the pair remains empty. Who are these rogues? Why do they insist on sitting in the aisle when there is a perfectly adequate, vacant window-seat right next to them? This is something I do not understand. These a-holes are essentially demanding one of two things: either you awkwardly ask them to slide in / stand to let you in, or that you remain standing due to your aversion of the aforementioned awkwardness inherent in the aforementioned request. What these hooligans do is so fucking inconsiderate. These claggarts must be aware of this, right?

One might assume the ontology of their awareness is the real crux of the issue at hand. Is that man sitting by the aisle, the one who’s conveniently ignoring the standing woman with the doubled-down stroller, a sociological maniac whose selfishness knows no bounds, or is he a claustrophobe so averse to getting smushed into the window that he is, or chooses to be, oblivious to society’s minor tenets? To me, though, the answer to this question of perspective is irrelevant. Actions speak louder than motivations, so he’s an asshole either way.

What I want to focus on, rather, is that particular individual who IS aware of his situation, as his character prompts the vital question: While this man is surely deserving of our loathing, has he not also, at least somewhat, earned our admiration? Let me explain.

Sure, this fellow is engaging in some truly heinous douchebaggery, but look deep down inside your soul and ask yourself – do you have the gall to replicate his actions? Could you stomach it, knowing that not only is your action wildly rude, but further, that multiple pairs of eyes are raining judgment down upon you? This guy is the step-cousin of the large black woman screaming her personal, revealing cell phone conversation in the middle of a crowded, public place; neither one of them gives a shit. And while my hatred of these people remains undoubtedly honed, and I could never fathom doing either of these things – nor do I ever hope to do so – one of the reasons for that is I don’t have the stones. These people do. Don’t kid yourselves, lords and ladies; these clowns have a brashness that we do not possess. And of that, I think, I am jealous.

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