An Open Letter to My Fellow Travellers on the Route 6 E 7:33 Bus

Dear Transit Riders:

I get it.

You got there first.

Yes, it is undoubtedly true that the Rules and Regulations of Bus Travel clearly indicate that seats are available on a "first come, first served" basis. In fact, one could go on to say that in the matter of posterior resting places, possession of one's backside-shaped scrap of real estate is indeed nine-tenths of the law.

But I would also like to note that the other one-tenth of that law includes the giving up of said seat (despite its being lawfully gained) for those smaller, older, more infirm and generally worse off than you.

That said, I am puzzled as to why, when my family and I boarded the crowded bus, you elected not only to keep your seats, but also to maintain ownership of the spaces you had procured for your inanimate packages. This despite being faced with the obvious presence of two small children who, I might add, had recently walked a fair distance wearing very cumbersome footwear.

Now it is possible that things were not what they seemed. That Crate and Barrel box sitting next to you on the bench may have been carrying a heart, packed in ice, wending its way towards the transplant patient lying on the operating table, a heart which required the most tender of care. It is also possible that the pink backpack with a seat to itself had nestled within it some mewling, orphaned kittens and that any movement would have frightened them terribly and led to their pitiable demise.

However, the fact that you did move your packages, albeit reluctantly and only after I stared you down with my most effective "Seriously?!" glare, does seem to suggest otherwise.

Having located two seats for my babies, I contented myself to stand. Your ungracious actions had brought out the Grinch in me and I could feel my heart shrink to several sizes too small. (Perhaps it would have been a good thing if the Crate and Barrel box had been carrying another heart.)

Then a passenger got off and a seat opened up across the aisle from my daughter, which I gratefully took. And a kind voice beside me proceeded to say, "I'd be happy to switch places so you can sit with your daughter."

With that, the Grinch gave way to Bob Crachit and I joyfully traded seats and had a lovely chat with my daughter about the holiday light parade we had just enjoyed.

But then, to my utmost astonishment, you, kind and gracious sir, took out your cell phone and dialed a number:

"Hi Nick, it's Kris calling."

A coincidental Santa-calling-Santa-type moment? I think not. You, sir, saved Christmas. (Well, at least my evening.)

In that same spirit of giving, I will not be curmudgeonly and hostile towards you seat-hoggers. Indeed, I hope you got home safely and that the heart and kittens all found good homes. To demonstrate further my sincerity, I close with those oft-repeated words of Tiny Tim, which I tonight dedicate to all of the riders who found themselves sharing that microcosm of society found only on a city bus:

"God Bless Us, Everyone."

With the merriest of Christmases to you,

PM