I nearly broached the first rule of the Metro this morning: I nearly spoke to the passengers around me. I came in later than usual this morning, hopping the 7 toward the Pentagon after construction began on my bathroom renovation. A four car blue line train arrived shortly after I did, and it was off into the city. That’s when I saw her. A lovely woman in her late twenties, about four or five months pregnant. Standing in the aisle. With four well-dressed gentlemen seated.
People, it may be August, there may be fewer people in town than usual, and Congress is out of session, hell even the President’s on vacation, but there is NO EXCUSE for a gentleman to be seated on the Metro when a pregnant woman is standing. None. The four of you in the aisle seats just around yourself should be ashamed of yourselves. Worse still, when a lady got up, ostensibly to allow the pregnant woman to be seated, another bozo in a suit took the vacant seat.
What the fuck, people. I mean, I really want to know, what the fuck? Can you tell me what the fuck?
But no, I stayed silent, shooting disapproving glares to all the suits in the aisle seats. I hope karma gave you food poisoning, you discourteous fops.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs