Unlike San Francisco’s notoriously overcrowded Muni, Seattle’s Metro buses are rarely standing-room-only. Seats are available, but the selection is less and trickier than it looks.
Almost all bus seats are two-person benches, but I’m larger than a standard human and it’s rude to squish strangers, so if there’s one person on a two-person bench, I can’t be the second person. This eliminates many or most seats, by default.
Also, due to the side doors, wheel wells, and other interior obstacles, not all bus seats have the same leg room. Under the second bench on the left side, for example, there’s a bulky HVAC unit that cuts off shoe space for anyone in the third bench. Seats like these are fine for kids and short or skinny adults, but leave my ankles crimped, and achy if the ride is more than a few blocks.
What remains are sideways seats, where instead of facing forward you’re facing the aisle. Riding in those seats, you can be centrifugal-forced onto the floor if the driver brakes or accelerates quickly. Also, my body is delicate in old age, and sitting sideways, the ordinary bumps and potholes bother my back more than when sitting frontways. After a ride in a sideways seat, I’ll be limping when I step off.
On some buses, certain seats have a structural beam that blocks the view out the window. There are single seats that have metal armrests which can’t be raised, can’t be squeezed between, so they’re unsittable seats for the plump. And the back row is out of the question; only trouble sits there.
That’s why I sometimes stand, even though seats are ‘available’.
Well, one fine day, I was waiting for the #99 at the very first stop on the route. Every seat should’ve been available, but other people were waiting too, and I was second in line to board. The man ahead of me took my very favorite seat — second bench on the left, above (not behind) the HVAC.
Oh, man — that seat gives full leg space, great window, it’s directly opposite a door for easy egress, and when the heat is on it blasts under my butt and onto my feet, which is lovely in winter.
Which led to, uh-oh. No longer needing to get along with co-workers, I’ve lost some of my ‘filter’ since retiring, and what I was thinking at that moment, I said right out loud. “Damn it, man, you took my seat.”
What an asshole thing to say, and instantly I regretted it. Emily Post doesn’t ride public transit, so if you say something assholey, things can quickly turn ugly.
But before I could even say I was sorry, the man — 40-something, Mexican or Middle Eastern — looked up and said very earnestly, “Oh, you can have this seat if you want.” He even stood again, with body language suggesting he’d be happy to take a different seat. Maybe Emily Post does ride public transit.
“No, no, no,” I said, and smiling and trying to be my better self, I lied, “I was just kidding,” as I scurried toward the back of the bus and into one of half a dozen other seats almost as good.
3/15/2025
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