Clearly I Have No Heart
Last night I was waiting for my subway at College Station, just past 5pm. We were standing about eight-deep to the platform's edge, and as the train rolled up, we could see that it was packed to the gills. As anyone who has ever rode the northbound Yonge line south of Bloor during rush hour can attest, it is like this every single day.
As the train rolled up, a woman's voice from the rear of the teeming masses loudly said, "You guys know there's little kids here, right?" We turned to look at a young (early twenties) couple. Sure enough, they had two little kids (they looked to be three and four) with them ... in a stroller. Both kids were asleep, and looked totally comfortable. The stroller was one of those long jobs, where the kids sit one in front of the other.
En masse, the crowd turned back around. As the subway doors opened, the woman announced very loudly that people with children and handicapped people should get on the train first (neither she nor her husband appeared at all handicapped - in fact they appeared to be the very image of hale and hearty youth). The doors opened right in front of me. A total of three people (myself included) squeezed on. There was no way, even if we had been inclined to let them get on first, that these people would have fit on the train with their kids, let alone with that monstrous great stroller.
"Look at you!" the woman cried in dismay. "Look how much you care!" The man growled "Maybe if I just start grabbing people and throwing them off the train, then they'll care!" At this heavy-handed dramatic display, I could not help myself: a brief snort of laughter escaped my nose.
"Yeah, you laugh!" shouted the man as the door-closing chime sounded. "You don't care about anybody but yourself, do you, buddy?"
What I wanted to tell him was this:
"That's kind of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think? You and your missus seem to think that having a pair of children with you is your golden pass to the front of the line. That stroller will not fit onto this train unless at least five people get off, and then another two get off so you and your missus can board, but you seem to think that's a reasonable exchange. It doesn't occur to you to wait your turn, or perhaps get to the subway at any other time than 5pm -seriously, at ten minutes to five, the subway is virtually deserted- or wait for a later train. The fact you've managed to squeeze out a couple of kids makes you no more special than the people on this train who have children waiting at home for them. If your kids were on their feet and tired or sick or crying or anything other than comfortably asleep and protected in their stroller, you might have had an argument, but as it stands, you don't even have that. Good day to you, sir."
But the doors were closing, so all I had time to say was, "That's not true. I just don't care about you."
As the train rolled up, a woman's voice from the rear of the teeming masses loudly said, "You guys know there's little kids here, right?" We turned to look at a young (early twenties) couple. Sure enough, they had two little kids (they looked to be three and four) with them ... in a stroller. Both kids were asleep, and looked totally comfortable. The stroller was one of those long jobs, where the kids sit one in front of the other.
En masse, the crowd turned back around. As the subway doors opened, the woman announced very loudly that people with children and handicapped people should get on the train first (neither she nor her husband appeared at all handicapped - in fact they appeared to be the very image of hale and hearty youth). The doors opened right in front of me. A total of three people (myself included) squeezed on. There was no way, even if we had been inclined to let them get on first, that these people would have fit on the train with their kids, let alone with that monstrous great stroller.
"Look at you!" the woman cried in dismay. "Look how much you care!" The man growled "Maybe if I just start grabbing people and throwing them off the train, then they'll care!" At this heavy-handed dramatic display, I could not help myself: a brief snort of laughter escaped my nose.
"Yeah, you laugh!" shouted the man as the door-closing chime sounded. "You don't care about anybody but yourself, do you, buddy?"
What I wanted to tell him was this:
"That's kind of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think? You and your missus seem to think that having a pair of children with you is your golden pass to the front of the line. That stroller will not fit onto this train unless at least five people get off, and then another two get off so you and your missus can board, but you seem to think that's a reasonable exchange. It doesn't occur to you to wait your turn, or perhaps get to the subway at any other time than 5pm -seriously, at ten minutes to five, the subway is virtually deserted- or wait for a later train. The fact you've managed to squeeze out a couple of kids makes you no more special than the people on this train who have children waiting at home for them. If your kids were on their feet and tired or sick or crying or anything other than comfortably asleep and protected in their stroller, you might have had an argument, but as it stands, you don't even have that. Good day to you, sir."
But the doors were closing, so all I had time to say was, "That's not true. I just don't care about you."