So they say you should never assume. I assume it’s because there’s a high possibility your assumption is completely wrong. If and when your assumption is totally wrong you’re going to feel like a complete douche bag and/or little bitch. Example:
I am on the L train. It’s late Wednesday night and I just worked a double. My cheap Keds look-a-like shoes have holes in the bottom and my feet are pounding. There’s construction going on and I know if I don’t get a seat I’ll be standing up for another 30 minutes… that is not an option. As soon as the dirty subway doors open, I rush past the drunk bum with a bike and the Asian couple making out, to get the last seat on the first car. I think to myself.
- Me: I run this sh!t… bitch!
I begin reading my recently purchased (by recently purchased I mean ‘stolen from my roommate’) book, Sarah Silverman’s The Bedwetter. I could careless how long the train takes as I have a funny book in hand and my iPhone is shuffling between The National’s albums. Everything is gravyyyyy, until I decide to look up and see a pregnant women leaning against the door. She looks tired, out of breath, and is holding her back in discomfort. I think to myself.
- Me: Really? What the sh!t! I know she’s pregnant, but serious, my feet are killing me. (I see the bum on the bike start rubbing his belly like he’s hungry, while simultaneously pointing to her stomach) I should give her this seat. Dammit. I have to work another double tomorrow, I need the rest. (I see her rub her stomach like she’s in pain. I continue having a debate in my head, but end up doing what I think is right. I get up and look at her).
- Me: Hey ma’am, you can have the seat.
- Pregnant Lady: (not expecting my act of generosity) Really?
- Me: Yeah you need it more than me.
- Pregnant Lady: (as she walks to the seat) Well that’s kind of you. I was really gassy–
- Me: You don’t have to explain. I’m sure at your stage of pregnancy just standing up for a couple minutes hurts.
- Pregnant Lady: Bitch I ain’t pregnant!
- Me: Huh?
- Pregnant Lady: (looking at bike riding bum) This little twerp just called me pregnant! (The bum blinks his eyes a couple times and begins licking the tires on his bike) Punk bitch, get your sh!t straight. I’m thick and I’m proud. (She throws her hands up) Say something, bitch. I dare you. I’ll straight up fart on your faggot ass.
I didn’t say anything. I was scared of her. I didn’t want to get farted on. What I earlier saw as a tender pregnant woman in pain, was now a fat, ghetto bitch, with a gold tooth (could have been a popcorn kernel) and tattoo that read, “I’ll kill a nigga for a Kit Kat” on her left thigh. I put my head down and pretended to continue reading my book, as the train conductor got on the intercom and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, due to construction, trains will be operating at much slower speeds than normal. We apologize for the inconvenience.” Laughing like a maniac and barking at children, the bum started trying to ride his bike around the train. I couldn’t concentrate on the book and wanted to see if the woman was still grilling me. I looked up to see the gassy ghetto woman sound asleep in my seat. The train came to a halt under the East River. I sighed to myself. My feet hurt.
Never Giving Up My Seat Again,