Roller Bag of Death

I often carry a rolling briefcase to work—you know, the thing that looks like a mini piece of luggage with two wheels and a long handle. In the cramped conditions of a Metro train, I always push the big handle down and just hand-carry the bag to make it less unwieldy.

Unfortunately, others do not follow this example.

The other day on my way home, I’m sitting on the Yellow Line in my usual spot, doing my usual thing, when all of the sudden I experience a jarring blow to my right kneecap, accompanied by an audible thump and shooting pain. I look up to see a woman flailing a rolling briefcase around by a fully extended handle, like she’s carrying a hanging clothes bag instead of a 20-pound cudgel. Needless to say, in the crush of passengers piling on at Pentagon City, she lost control of it as she swung around the center pole, racing and clambering toward a seat opposite me, and my knee took a direct hit from a wheel.

She gives me one of those little sub-vocalized “sorrys” ubiquitous on Metro during rush hour.

No problem, lady. It’s just my knee. I have two. It’ll only bruise a little. But … WHAT ARE YOU THINKING WAVING THAT THING AROUND LIKE THAT?!?!

I don’t share my thoughts, of course, not wanting to cause a mini-riot with a person so obviously inclined to use her bag as a weapon. Instead I proffer the typical non-committal head bob, which means something between “you’re a complete moron and I’m only accepting your worthless apology out of social obligation” and “don’t worry, it happens all the time.”

Which, of course, it does.

sigh

A few minutes later I limp up the escalator toward my connecting train.