As the weather gets yucky (this week's high temps will be at or near fifty, but we're looking at rain, rain, and more rain), I find myself reluctantly taking SEPTA more and more often, often during rush hour. Because I try to be a courteous SEPTA rider, I make a point of not putting my belongings on the seat beside me if the subway car, trolley, or bus seems to be getting crowded. I try to sit on the "window" side of the bench, too, so that anyone who wishes to sit beside me can do exactly that. If I need to get up before my seatmate, I usually need only say "excuse me" and that person will stand briefly to allow for my passage.

I say "usually" because once in a while, you'll get some person sitting beside you who doesn't move an inch, and you're forced to make like Tyler Durden and decide whether you're giving your discourteous seatmate the ass or the crotch. Tyler was actually talking about airplanes which, although tight, still give you more room to pass those beside you than your average bus or subway car. Last week, I was riding the Broad Street Line north from Walnut-Locust to Spring Garden. The platform at the City Hall stop was teeming with people waiting to board, so I slid to the window seat to allow for someone to sit beside me with ease. I knew I only had two stops to go before I disembarked, but I assumed that it'd be no problem.

Then came the lady with the impressively large backpack. Which she attempted to keep on her back (both straps over her shoulders) while she sat beside me - until she realized that in doing so, she was actually resting the brunt of the bag on my lap. Eyeing me suspiciously (because clearly, I'd maneuvered myself into this position so that I could steal her iPod) she removed one shoulder strap and swung the bag onto her own lap, which was all well and good until we rolled out of the Race-Vine station. I began to get ready to go. I re-tightened my scarf, re-buttoned my jacket, re-donned my hat. Usually, these are signs to the person next to you that you'll soon depart. Most SEPTA riders notice this and stand to give you easy access to the aisle, and, naturally, the door. But the woman with the impressively large backpack did nothing of the kind. I stood up. She remained seated. "Excuse me," I said, ever so politely. The train was rolling into the Spring Garden station. She wrapped her arms around her backpack and pulled it ever so slightly in toward her body, but made no effort to even do so much as to swing her legs into the aisle to allow for my easy passage.

You can all guess where this is going: I tripped. Over her unmoved foot. She screamed "Ouch!" The nice gentleman I tripped into helped me right myself and then glared at her on my behalf. She looked like she was going to say something, but the doors slid open and soon, I was on the outside while she remained in, still indignant about something that was her own fault and that she could easily have avoided by simply standing for the ten seconds it would have taken me to get up.

It should be noted, too, that means of transportation are not the only place where the "stand for someone to pass you" offense is committed. Theatres and sports stadiums (especially the older ones of each, where the seats were seemingly installed without a thought for patrons who stand over five-foot-eight) are also places where you might have to momentarily rouse yourself so that latecomers can claim their seats toward the inside of your row. Yeah, in this case, it sucks that they were late and now you have to miss the opening dance number/the first pitch/ the preview for the new Shyamalan movie, but it'll suck a lot more if they trip over your feet and spill their popcorn on your lap.

Unless you're really hungry, that is.

Image Credit: Flickr user caseywest