Space Invaders

There is a man sitting next to me on the bus and he is on. my. side. By saying this, I do not mean that he is supportive of me, you know, like we are a team, he and I. I mean that he has crossed the line. Literally. You know, that line that differentiates my seat from his. I am willing to give him a little latitude though, because he is asleep and when he is awake he is not like this. He just fell over. I do not judge. When I shift slightly he wakes up and no longer invades my space. Most of my rides are pleasant. Most days people are conscious, except when they are unconscious, and then, of course, they are forgiven, at least by me.

The guy who sat with me yesterday is a seat hog.  The term "seat hog" is not to be confused with "Sweat Hog," as in "I am having a "Welcome Back Kotter" moment." Because I am not. But if I was, I think I would prefer listening to Arnold Horshack's laugh for a solid hour over sharing a pair of seats with Seat Hog Guy for five minutes. Seat Hog Guy isn't extraordinarily tall. Or wide. He just chooses to "spread out." If you know what I mean. And he reads his newspaper close to his face, as if he's forgotten his eyeglasses, with his elbows sticking out at the sides. Nice. When I shift in my seat slightly, he still invades my space.

Now, folks that ride the bus come in all shapes and sizes. I tend to attract seat hogs because I'm on the smaller end of the spectrum. Seat Hogs think they're getting a bargain when they sit with me, as if I will willingly share the unused portion of my seat with them. I will not. Willingly, anyway.

Some riders have legs that are as long as the boy child is tall. I've seen them. I watch out of the corner of my eye as they fold themselves into their seats, like human origami. I don't know how they do it. I imagine that they are used to it, that this must happen to them everywhere: in the movies, on the train. And yet, as tall as they are, most of them manage to stay on. their. own. side. And if they do not, I make allowances. It's not their fault. These are the times that I am grateful for not being all that tall. When the person in front of me leans his seat all the way back, I still have room to move.

Kindle Guy sits on the aisle and reads his book. He does not seem to notice that the bus is filling; he is absorbed. Those who want to sit with him must ask him not once, but twice, since he is wearing earbuds and does not look up, does not feel the presence of the person standing in front of him, waiting to sit, holding up the line that snakes around the corner. Why does he seem surprised that his seat will be needed? All the seats will be taken. Everyone wants to ride.

Bleached Blond Chick is not really all that big, but you would not know that by the way she sits. Every morning she chooses the aisle seat behind the driver. With her bag on the seat beside her, she turns slightly toward the window while she hunches over her smart phone, presumably fascinated by what she sees. Her body language screams, "DON'T SIT WITH ME!" But, I do. Sit with her. Even if there are other seats available. I'm not the only one that does this. On other days, I see others do it, too. I get a secret thrill out of invading what she deems to be her space. Because there is a long line of passengers that want to sit down, and I know that many will not ask her to move. And, because I know she's not a seat hog, even if she is a, well, seat hog. Because if you're actually sitting with her, she stays on. her. own. side.