Six Seats

There's a public bench on a subway platform with six empty seats; the type of bench with dividers that keep it from becoming a bed. With so many options, where do you sit?

A young woman—let's call her Rachael—comes by and picks one of the two middle seats. It's weird to sit on the end when no one else is there, right? She had a long day (who didn't?), and she's exhausted. But the bench is now hers.

Two men come by and sit on either side, leaving one space in between. No problem. A couple then walks up and leans against the seat to Rachael's right. They're in their own little world. Thinking they'd want to sit down together, Rachael moves a seat to her left, and they sit. But now, she has nowhere for her too-big bag, and she doesn't want to put it on the ground, which she can only imagine is soaked in urine. Or maybe vomit.

The man on the far right gets up to walk down the platform, so now there are two open seats on the right of the bench. Rachael cranes her neck to look down at them. Now's her time to move. She gathers up her things. As she does, a train pulls away from another platform and commuters come rushing onto this one. In the crowd, a man knocks her bag, and it falls to the ground. She drops down to pick it up.

In the short time it takes for Rachael to lift herself back up, the two seats on the end easily fill from this new batch of passengers. Rachael turns around. At least she can take the seat she just left. At least she'll have a place to sit.

The seat is empty. Great. But wait, a man is making a bee-line straight for it. Rachael freezes. Her heart sinks. It isn't good. Because this isn't just any man.

It's a senior citizen.

A public bench. Six seats. Where do you sit?

Nowhere, that's where.