Insensitivity Training 101

Dear Chubby Bunny,

You might not be aware of it, but you are taking up two seats, not just the one in which you are entitled to as a tax paying citizen.  Since you are morbidly obese, I will assume you are an American by default.  I know it must be terribly difficult to assess the seed of my misgivings since you are in the newer, “fancier” subway car with its blue bench seats and its fairly efficient air conditioning system, but you are indeed occupying (in addition to your own seat, the one under your right ass cheek) a seat that could be mine for a joyful five stops.  Instead I am forced to stand here, holding onto a round pole covered with malaria and other foul things that might kill me, watching as your gelatinous mass spreads itself over the blue plastic like a depressing solar eclipse.

I long for the older cars: pre-Guiliani nightmares with their sour McDonald’s color scheme and graffiti etched irreversibly into metal walls, the corners filled with trash that never seemed to be swept up and the jaundiced flourescent lights rendering us all subterranean zombies.  Please dear God, give me that, if only just for their clearly defined seats, each butt-sized dent perfect for just that, as well as various indecipherable trapped and stagnant liquids.

Back in the founding days of the subway car, there was a discussion about the average heft of a human being.  At this juncture, our slim and trim ancestors divided the area into what I might call “space cubicles” – the amount of room that each Homo sapien is entitled to, give or take a child or a football player with broad shoulders.  This, however, was long before the days of Quarter Pounders with Cheese and video games, when people could run without wheezing and there was no debate about if obese people were obligated to purchase an extra ticket for their third asses on airplanes.

These people oozing out of their personal space bubble and into my own need to be held accountable for their imposing girth and if that means taking it upon myself to draw boundaries on these unlined and dentless blue bench seats, so be it.  Until that time, might I suggest that you step towards the back of the car, where there is extra space for people and their bicycles, to attempt some lunges in the meantime.


Irritated on the L Train