It's The Thought That Counts...Right?

What I hate about rush hour is when you get a seat and you're reading or on the verge of falling face first onto the floor --- but the point being that you've got yourself a seat --- and then some old person or some cirppled person or some woman with a baby gets onto the train and they wind up standing right in front of you. And it's like, you're sitting there, trying to work up the nerve to say, "Would you like to sit down?" 'cause you really never know...I mean, sometimes, if it's a person who looks old but isn't really all that old, you get a bit of that, "Who the hell do you think you are?" outrage. Like, the time mom offered to help this blind guy and he totally went ape shit on her.

That'll teach her for being a good Samaritan.

So, this old guy gets on and he's got a cane --- and at first, he ambles over to the other side and I'm relieved. I won't have to get up after all. Not that I'm a lazy asshole, you understand. I mean, I can stand, if need be. Sure, I don't like having to touch anything on the train 'cause everything seems like it's teeming with germs, but hey, I've got Purrel in my bag, so I'm a-okay.

But then, he walks over so he's leaning against the door right next to me! And I'm not even really reading anymore, 'cause all I can really think about is how I should offer him my seat. The thing is, I'm thinking about it too much and it's actually starting to stress me out --- I don't even know why I'm afraid to speak up. Like, the words refuse to come out. And I'm also thinking about how mom and I once noticed this guy with a crutch get onto the train and this Indian guy just looks up, stares and then looks back down at his paper again.

So, that's why I asked the old guy if he wanted to sit down. But he waved his hand and told me no. So, fine. At least I asked. But now, all I can think about is how everybody who gets on the train afterwards wouldn't know that I asked the guy if he wanted to sit and he'd rejected my offer. I asked, goddamnit! But nobody knows that. They just think I'm the able-bodied bitch who didn't offer the old guy with the crutch a seat.

And you know what pissed me off? When I got to Yonge and got up, the old guy sits down in my seat and has this look of relief on his face --- like he was dying to sit down this whole time, but the selfish Chinese bitch sitting in front of him just flat out ignored the obvious pain he was in and just continued reading her paper, gawping at that picture of the woman in China who's pregnant with quintuplets and who looks like a complete freak show...I mean, her stomach was so fucking HUGE!

But I digress...all I could think was, "WTF? I ASKED HIM IF HE WANTED TO FUCKING SIT DOWN!!!!!"