Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Seat's Taken.

Today on the crowded morning train I happened to overhear a girl tell her friend that she spilled Pepsi all over the seat next to her. This is something I've been fearing for awhile.  

In most other cities this soda seat wouldn't have been a problem. Plastic seats make spills and goo completely visible--it's the very least public transportation can do for its riders.  But in Boston, the T seats are covered in this hideous fabric that could basically hide anything.  Every time I sit down, I'm sure I'm about to have wet pants. 

When the girl and her friend got off the train a few stops after I'd learned the news about the soaking wet seat, I took it as my personal responsibility to inform every new passenger on my train car about it. I stood by the train doors and kept repeating, "Don't sit there, it's wet." "Don't sit there, it's wet." "That seat's wet, don't sit there." "That's a wet seat, don't sit in it." as I pointed to the accident seat and started to feel good about my random act of kindness.

The doors closed and I thought to myself, hey, nice work, J. You just saved a person's morning from being ruined!

But as the train rolled on it occurred to me that everyone I just talked to was probably thinking to themselves, How does she know? 

Then I started to get paranoid thinking about what they might be thinking. I debated making a general announcement, something along the lines of, "Hi everybody. I didn't pee on that seat. If that's what you were thinking, you're wrong."  

But I didn't.


V said...

"I'm not sitting on that one"

Jess said...

"I'm not going on this one, so..."

Macnabbs said...

My commuter train has seats upholstered in a fabric so busy that it hides every stain up to and including spray-painted graffiti. But what elevates the seating beyond irksome to the level of genius is that beneath the porus fabric the seat is stuffed with sponge. That's right, a spill goes through and is essentially trapped in the seat in a reservoir of discomfort, only released by the pressure of a posterior. This means that you sit on the seat and then have a debate with yourself about whether your bum is getting wet or is the seat just cold and if you leap up shouting 'eeeeuuuuuuugh ick ick ick!' while pulling your trousers away from your arse, will this be justified or will people raise their newspapers like nutter defence shields, shunning you as you attempt to explain that you sort of thought that just maybe there was a wet patch.

Testing your seat with blotting paper before you perch gets you funny looks too.