Daily Commute

Yesterday I was running late. The buses simply were not coming; eventually two turned up at the same time, one full to the brim, the other half-empty. Naturally, I jumped on the half-empty one. Just past the ticket machine were two seats that are normally filled, with priority for pregnant women and the elderly, but more commonly taken by impatient commuters. I saw my chance at the empty seats, and then looked down. The floor next to the two seats was covered with a thin yet noticeable spread of fairly recent vomit.

Disgusted, I stood in the space, and watched as at every stop, fresh passengers went through the same experience as I. Their weary faces contemplating the day at work would briefly light up at the thought of a free seat, then instantly switch to disgust when they saw the pool of vomit. Thus, the two seats remained free for quite some time, and I imagine that all of us tried gamely to ignore the colourful spatter in the corner.

Finally, a short, slightly elderly woman got on. She had thick glasses but was walking with confidence; she saw the empty seats, and took her chance, plumping herself down, albeit in a side-saddle-esque stance. The silent shockwaves of incredulity rippled along the bus, as those of us who knew could not believe that this woman had sat on the seat, sacrificing her dignity in favour of half an hour of comfort before work. There are stronger people than I on this bus, we all concluded, silently in unison.

Then an older man got on. He, it was obvious, could not determine what lay before him within half a yard, so it was understandable that he would move to sit down on the accursed seats. He made to sit down, which was when I expected the woman to get up and give him her seat. Instead, she slid her legs along to the next seat, and was now sitting firmly in the middle of the puddle.

Instantly all became clear: she had no idea she was sitting in the mess. Horrified, it was now the duty of the other passengers to inform her that this was the case, and yet none of us had the guts, until finally a woman got up to offer either of the pair her seats. The two politely declined, pointing out that they were already comfortable, whereupon the poor lady had to inform them, with exemplary manners, that they were in fact sitting in a puddle of sick. The two rose instantly, the man less conscientious than the woman, who looked sad, as if once more her eyes had let her down. I felt nothing but pity for the lady.

It was then that I looked up and saw the Prophet walking in the road next to the window.