Some letters to my subway friends. You know who you is.

Dear sir,
I am ever so sorry I got in your way on a crowded train. I realize that no one’s journey is as important as yours; yours is a life of importance while the rest of us on the train were merely extras in the Michael Bay film of your life.
Given this knowledge, I attempted to accommodate you. I took my backpack off and sat it on my feet so there would be extra space for you to keep your massive hiker’s pack on.
‘Twas the least I could do. And when you fell into me for the eight hundredth time and I elbowed you? That was completely accidental. I had no idea that reading the Wall Street Journal on the train using both hands instead of gripping a pole for balance was your God-given right. You are correct; my presence on the train was entirely to support you by being a pinball bumper. When I kicked you on my way out? Completely accidental. And the Voodoo hex I put on your sex life last night? Total joke.

Dear madam,
I realize some seats are clearly reserved…but why, oh why, when an entire row of seats is empty, do you feel the need to sit in the seat adjacent to me? I realize I might possibly be THE sex symbol of the millenium after Colin Farrell, but show some propriety! When next you see an entire row of empty seats on a subway, why not choose one of them? it’s not that I don’t appreciate your elbow or the delicious aroma of whatever it you cooked last night and, apparently, in which you subsequently bathed, it’s…just…well, people will talk.
[photo from MIT.EDU. *I realize it’s a photo of Japan. Having lived there, I can tell you it is almost always that bad and does make New York crowds look positively pedestrian by comparison]