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Hey there! did you just score the coveted spot by the doors? Mazel. It’s a great spot, isn’t it? You don’t have to touch the pole, you have a little more personal space—it’s pretty much the Business Class of the MTA.
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Well, guess what: That space is yours for precisely one stop. One. If for some reason no one is trying to get on or off at the next station, then congrats to you, you’ve earned a one-stop reprieve. But so help me, if there is a single person trying to board or disembark and you decide to invoke squatters’ rights, claiming that space for all eternity just because you got there first, forcing everybody to maneuver around you, then you, my friend, are a terrible person.
The arrogance of it! Just think: While your fellow straphangers are awkwardly removing their backpacks and contorting their bodies to fit into inhumanly small spaces, entering into awkward butt-to-butt and calf-to-calf unions with strangers, you stand with that smug look on your face, lording over a spot you erroneously think you own. I’m here to tell you that you don’t, and you need to move the hell in. Get to the center of that car and bond with your brothers and sisters in awfulness: the manspreaders, the full-body pole leaners and the people who think their shopping bag deserves a seat more than actual humans do (and who roll their eyes when anyone asks them to move it).
I don’t care that you really, really like it by the doors. Life is tough, kid, and we have enough to be angry about these days without you making yourself a human traffic cone.
Don’t block the doors; it’s as simple as that. And thank you for riding the New York City subway. Jerk.