The Seat Slide-Over

Silver bells. Hear them ring. It’s Christmas time in the city... You just spent all afternoon trudging in the freezing rain, buying the best knockoff apparel for your family (because they’re worth it, and you spend 2/3 of your paycheck to live in an apartment built for Hobbits). Soaking wet and blisters on your feet, you lug the bags underground to the subway platform. Your Northfake is still dripping and leaves a urine trail in your wake. The A rumbles into the station. A million people deboard the train and trample you without concern. But at least you made it onto the train, finally dry and warm, with the promise of home only 23 stops away.

You’re effing tired (not to be confused with fucking Tired, as in Mr. Tired, the gap-toothed gentleman behind the counter at Gristedes; fucking him is a bad idea), and you need a seat. Low and behold, there’s only one left and it looks like you’re riding bitch. There’s a portly man lodged on one end of the seat bench, and a woman next to the pole-divider at the middle of the bench. You do a cost-benefit analysis, and decide you have to, so you nestle your little butt between them and give your cheeks a rest.

But now you got Grimace to your left, and he looks like he’s eating the Hamburglar. On your right is Old Woman Withers, who looks like layers of herself kept melting on top of each other until she was satisfied that she resembled Jabba the Hutt. She also smells like pure gasoline. And she keeps staring at you with her one eye. You’re huddled in between, trying to keep your knees together, your arms together, your shoulders together, so as to avoid physical contact with the Jello-giants next to you. But it’s pointless, the A train’s in hydraulics mode and is jerking forward the way Shattner talks. Each time it jerks, you get crushed worse than a sumo wrestler’s diaper.

At stop 13, Grimace gets up to leave. Despite being intoxicated by gasoline fumes and charred Big Macs, you recognize an opportunity when you see one. Without hesitation, you do the one thing you possibly can to redeem your humanity—you slide over to the left. And with that one simple seat change, you can breathe the crisp air again, you rediscover what it’s like to have space between your balls again, and you remember that freedom is a privilege in this world. Nevermind that the seat is warmer than a Dutch oven and covered in sesame seeds; it doesn’t matter. You’re free. That is the magic of the seat slide-over…keeping New Yorkers sane since 1883.

Going from riding bitch to sliding over to the best seat in the car (i.e. the end of the bench against the rail, so you’re assured that no one can sit next to you on at least one side of your body) is the American Dream realized. Best of all, you get to enjoy someone else’s discomfort as they’re forced to sit between Old Woman Withers and your fat bloated ass. (‘Milk was a bad idea!’)

But God forbid the bench was just recently scrubbed down and doesn’t have enough accumulated dust to make your slide-over smooth. Instead the friction between your butt and the seat makes it sound like your ass is erupting. Then again, what better way to prevent other passengers from plopping down next to you, then to clear the air with your derriere.

Take heed, however, that taking pleasure in other people’s pain will come back to haunt you. One of two things will happen as a consequence. Either A) it’ll be too late for you when you realize that you are now sitting in front of a subway map when someone does the lean-in-and-look on ya, and now you got some guy’s stubbled face 2 centimeters from your own. Or B)Lonely Planet doesn’t inform the tourist sitting to your right to do a seat slide-over once Old Woman Withers gets up, and now the anti-bath European is polluting your air space.

This brings us to Subway Rider Rule # 690: Never get high off your own supply…Woops! Wrong set of rules!...Always do a seat slide-over when the opportunity arises. It keeps the world in balance, and the universe aligned. The seat slide-over saves lives. It's what Chuck Norris would do...after killing the guy next to him with his fists.

And Subway Rider Fun Tip #106: Pretend to be the rider that forgets to seat slide-over. Then, when someone standing proceeds to sit down in the vacant spot, slide over there as fast as you possibly can, so that they end up sitting in your lap. Who ever said New Yorkers aren’t friendly? When the person looks at you in confusion and shock, smile and say “wakka wakka wakka!” for bonus points.