While riding the busy, but not crowded subway to work this morning, I noticed a large man getting on my car at one of the stops. He is exactly how I've always pictured Ignatius Reilly from "A Confederacy of Dunces." After he stepped in, he looked around and immediately noticed an empty seat. The middle seat was unoccupied while bookending it sat two women--one of a recent college graduate age and the other simply, old. Watching their eyes, I knew what was going on in their heads. Their shared inner monologue went something like this:
Oh dear god. Please don't sit here. I don't want another person's fat to rub on me. No. Don't look here...maybe if I push out my elbows slightly--No! NO!!!
He waddled over, turned around, squeezed in his buttocks-ten times the size of mine--and slowly slid in, like putting toothpaste back into the tube. After twisting side to side to fill every niche of space available, he looked around with satisfaction and began reading his magazine, while ignoring the glares of his two intimate neighbors.
