
On Saturday night I got onto a London Underground tube train. I’d had a great night out with my wife, and we were both well fed and had had a couple of drinks at the restaurant. I was a happy fellow.
The tube was busy, but we were lucky enough to spot a couple of seats on either side of the gangway. My wife took one and as I went to take the other I noticed that the guy sitting on the seat next to the vacant spot was sitting with his legs sprawled so widely that I wouldn’t be able to sit down without turning to the side. He’d watched me coming down the carriage, so he couldn’t claim to have not seen me. I stood and waited.
I should add at this point that this wasn’t some ‘yoof’. This was a middle-aged man in a suit, sitting opposite a woman whom I assumed was his wife (or partner) and a younger woman, who judging from the facial similarity, I guessed was his daughter.
I sat down on the seat with his leg pressed up against mine. Even when I sat down he refused to move. I was by now rather hacked off at this guy.
“Comfortable?” I asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I was wondering if you were quite comfortable. It’s just that I’m not, and as you are the cause for my being uncomfortable, I thought I’d make sure that you were. You see, I wasn’t aware that you must have paid more money for your seat on this train than anybody else, thus giving you the right to sprawl across the seats in a manner that makes it impossible for anyone else to sit upon them.”
At this point his wife had the audacity to roll her eyes in my direction and say, “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“Indeed. For heaven’s sake. I’m sorry if pointing out this obvious rudeness has upset you in some way, but I would have thought it an act of common decency to move over a little when you see that someone else wants to sit on the seat next to you. Neither would I have thought it too much to ask that when I do sit down that I shouldn’t have to suffer having somebody’s leg jammed up against mine in the way that his is now.”
“What is your problem?” the woman asked.
“Manners. Or a lack of them.”
She rolled her eyes again.
“I know. It’s a terribly old-fashioned concept. But if my ten-year-old son can work out how to behave in public, I would have thought that a bunch of grown adults could do the same.”
The bloke swore at me and finally moved his leg.
“Thank you. You’re too kind.”
The daughter decided that it was her time to pipe up: “You know, there was no need for that.”
“How right you are.”
Two stops later they all got up and pushed past me, muttering under their breaths. The guy turned to me and told me that I, “Had a problem.”
I retorted in time-honoured fashion by telling him to, “F*** off.”
He did.