Seatmate

I remember reading an interesting item on the amount of personal space expected by people from different countries. No matter what one's expectations are, however, there come situations in every culture where you have to override that. A good example of that is when you must sit directly next to someone for one reason or another. Oddly, people feel they must sit next to a platonic friend in a movie theater even when it's not full, but other scenarios make more sense. Most of them have something to do with transportation, I think. Two or three people who may or may not know each other are hastily thrown together and expected to co-exist with little more than the ordinary rules of civilized society to govern them. These people must peacefully sit side by side maybe for hours, with no sounds or lights coming between them. Additionally, the person on the outside becomes gatekeeper to the one on the inside where trips to the bathroom are applicable. It's a tough relationship.

Riding on buses as I often do, I have obviously given all this some thought. Unfortunately, no amount of thought really helps the situation. On my trip home from Thanksgiving with my family, I took Greyhound (the trip there being detailed in a recent post). Since I had not had a seatmate on the way there, I had high hopes of not having one on the way back either. This would be nice, as sleeping becomes a more realistic proposition, and sleep is the real reason I take buses overnight anyway: it would seem to neutralize the problem of a six hour trip by making the bus no more than a bed on wheels. Sadly, my dreams of sitting alone were not to be. I begrudgingly accepted this, but was not bargaining on who I got as a seatmate. Simply put, he was a crazy person. I'm not really complaining, as an uneventful ride would have left me with little to write about, but I will say that I thought twice about succumbing to sleep knowing he was there beside me.

Initially, I saw no reason for concern. I had seen the guy in the station. He was an old-ish, potbellied guy with tattooed arms, and he bore a mild resemblance to Quint in Jaws. Just as the bus began to pull out, red flags started to manifest themselves. There was this thing he did over and over again every few minutes most of the ride. The first time, it seemed like a deliberate, violent gesture mimicking a downward stabbing motion. When it became apparent that this was an involuntary thing, I relaxed a little. That ended when it occurred to me that it would be of no solace to me that I was subjected to bodily harm because this guy couldn't help what he was doing. Ultimately I determined that the cause was a respiratory ailment of some kind. In any case, the whole bus heard it, and some precocious child up ahead of us demanded to know more than once who it was. When he wasn't doing this thing, my seatmate was muttering vindictive curse words at some unidentified transgressor. It would have been more amusing to watch on television.

I hasten to say that I consider myself to have been in no danger. It was just a question of discomfort. How much potential discomfort was on the line became obvious only once we had arrived in LA. My first stop was the restroom, and as it turned out my seatmate had the same idea. As I was in there, I heard him rush into a stall and empty what sound like the entirety of his stomach contents into the toilet. I though for some time about the close call I'd experienced. The whole thing reminds me again of a line that has come up a few times recently. I finally looked it up to see who had been so wise, but the search was inconclusive. That being the case, I was unable to read any surrounding text as I would like. Regardless, the wise man said, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle". I try to keep that in mind. It was an unpleasant ride, but has ended for me. For that unknown man, the disagreeable journey goes on.