An Open Letter

Dear Passengers of the Rather Empty F Train This Morning at 7:48 am,

There were a lot of seat choices, people. It's not like it was a packed train and that was the only seat available. I am fully aware that when there is only one seat, as is the case with an empty car, there is something wrong with it.

But this morning was different. I had many seats to choose from, and I chose the one near you, gentrified couple and old Russian man. Not once, ONCE as I slowly knelt to sit down did any one of you tell me that there was a huge puddle of water in the middle of it. Not a single one of you. Instead you all looked away, uncomfortable.

So when I got up and gave you all the evil Condi Rice stink-eye, you shrunk even further. I'm glad you are ashamed of yourselves. Yeah, I'm the one who stared you down, brushed myself off and declared, "fabulous," as I walked away to the other end of the train where I was welcomed with open arms and a dry seat. Shame on you, insensitive train people. Shame on you indeed.

I'd like to take this time to thank the Asian woman who did not flinch as I sat down next to her and spun my skirt around so the wet spot could dry. Thank you Duane Reade for being there as I purchased new panty hose and thank you ladies room for allowing me to change out of my wet underwear and stockings with great privacy and ease. Thank you.

And now, I'm not wearing underwear.