Open Letter #1

Dear Obese Mass-Transit Passenger,

First, let me say that I do not hate you for being obese. Perhaps you have a thyroid problem or perhaps you have made a conscious decision to prioritize the enjoyment of food over your physical well-being. Or perhaps you are the fourth South Philly man I have seen that could be 8.5 months pregnant. With twins. Whatever the case, I do not hate you for being obese.

What I really don’t like, however, is the way your eyes light up when you see me sitting alone in a two-seat bench. You seem to think that my fitting easily into my seat is permission for you to take some of my space for yourself. If you were to offer to pay me a third of my fare in exchange for using a third of my seat, I might be amenable, but flopping alarmingly down next to/on me and then saying “Excuse me” as though I had somehow trespassed upon you is not the way to make me a good neighbor.

While I realize that these transit seats were apparently not designed for Philadelphian proportions, the territory allotted for each fare-paying individual is clearly demarcated with chrome or plastic edges. Why must you overflow? In this chilly weather, are you attempting to confer unto me some of the benefits of your negligible surface-area-to-volume ratio? Thanks, but no thanks.

Please know that my primary method of avoiding you, if there is any remote chance of the bus filling up more than halfway, is to sit next to someone whose approach to commuting appears to be less than imperialistic. Even if they are obviously confused as to why I sat next to them rather than choosing an empty two-seater.

I have encountered well-mannered passengers of size who manage to keep their considerable mass to themselves, and they have my gratitude. As for the rest of you, I have bony little elbows, and I’m not afraid to use them.

xo,
Tam