Gimme Some Space, Mr. Widestance

I’m a tall guy, and I try my best to mind my surroundings. I can’t help occasionally running over a kid here or there, but I do my best. This is particularly important on the Metro, where there isn’t much room to begin with, even without a bunch of people jamming into a train.

In other words, I maintain cushion integrity. Just like when you were a kid and established a DMZ between you and your sibling (enforced by a piece of tape, of course), I keep my legs within the invisible boundary of my Metro seat, defined by the point at which the two cushions meet. Unfortunately, my subway-riding brethren often don’t follow the same rules.

The other day I was on my way home, peacefully reading and minding my own business, when this dude flops down into the open seat next to me—plus some. I look down and cannot see even a hint of the cushion DMZ. What’s worse, his legs are spread far enough apart that his left leg is touching my right. I realize this is a more comfortable position than holding the knees together, but he is clearly violating my national airspace.

In the post-Larry-Craig-in-a-Minnesota-airport-bathroom era in which we live, I guess he could be hitting on me; more likely, though, he’s just your average inconsiderate male Metro rider, of which I am quite familiar.

Regardless, I scoot over as far as I can and say nothing—he’s even bigger than me, and half a seat is still better than standing up.