Not even the delightful rendition of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" by The Living Voices could ease the boil. I wish my reaction could limit itself to mere annoyance, but I won't lie, it's usually anger.
Perhaps it's none of my business. Then again, I sit in the seats, my wife sits in the seats, friends sit in the seats, along with other civilized commuters. The cost of my monthly pass is almost certainly calculated on the basis of seat sustainability, along with the cost of cleaning and maintaining the seats. Therefore, it's entirely my business.
I do give them a disapproving glare, sometimes, more than one. I yearn to bark sternly, "Put your feet down! You know, you're not alone on the planet! Have you ever heard of consideration?"
Why would these louts and boors put their feet up on train seats? People come straight off the outdoor platforms into the train with snow, sand, salt and dirt on their boots. The floor, inevitably, becomes wet and dirty.
These jerks make themselves comfortable and put their feet up on the seats, boots and all. On the train home tonight, it was some young, thick-thighed walrusette. Not only was she blabbing loudly on her phone, but she put one of her boots up on the seat facing her. On the way into work today, it was a young guy with his hoodie pulled over his head, who sat down and promptly put both his mucky feet on the seat in front of him so he could type on his laptop.
A few weeks ago, a couple of train employees with the word "Surete" on the the back of their vests told one of these louts to put their feet down, but their patrols are few and far between.
The young ones seem to put their wet winter boots on seats, while the older galoots take their boots off and put their stocking feet up on the seats in front of them. How nice for you and thanks for welcoming us into your living room!
These are common wal-mart oxen for whom the rules apply to everyone else. They park in handicapped spaces. They don't pick-up after their dogs. On their way to the bar, they park on your lawn and litter it with beer bottles. Wal-mart oxen give oxen a bad name. They ought to be taught consideration and respect for others with the help of an electric cattle prod!
Is it me?
It's me, isn't it?
Is anyone else angry that inconsiderate boors roam our society, unchecked?
What I need is my share of diffuse responsibility, where we all get such a small slice of social responsibility that no one is compelled to actually be responsible. On the train, I listen to my music so I don't hear them bellowing self-importantly on their cell phones (see September 12, 2010 blog), next, I'll close my eyes so I don't see them putting their boots up on train seats.
It'll be a wonderful world until I open my eyes and ears to see and hear what I haven't done.
Still, what's the point of being considerate, obeying the rules and respecting others while wal-mart oxen ignore the rules at our expense with no consideration for anything but their own whims?
Is it me?
It's me, isn't it?
What do you recommend? Should I knock back a bottle of chill pills, or wisely resolve to wallow in social indifference this New Year?
It's Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year!
Besides, according to The Living Voices, the list will be checked twice; I'm good.