Sitting in a Subway Seat

Commuting by train for a long stretch of time is quite a painful ordeal. The cars are usually packed, cramped, and hot. As you stand wedged among the passengers getting on and off such a train, you can’t help but cast envious glances at the riders who get to sit. Determined to get a seat one way or another, I set out for work early, and once I’m settled into a seat quietly reading a book, the train fills up with people within just a few stops and the seats fill up too. Subway seats have no partitions, so the boundaries between them are vague, and in winter the thickly bundled-up clothing makes passengers bulkier, leaving even less room. If I have the bad luck of being squeezed in between male passengers, it’s hard to even wedge my shoulder in between theirs. When that happens, I have no choice but to perch on the very edge of the seat, far from the backrest. It may be better than standing, but it’s no small misery either. As it happened, today was exactly one of those days. I was clinging to the edge of the seat reading a book, and perhaps because I’d gone to bed late the night before, I was terribly tired. Since I wasn’t leaning against the backrest, my back naturally hunched forward, and half-asleep—without even realizing whether my back had curved like a shrimp’s—I drifted off entirely to the clattering rhythm of the train. Fortunately I didn’t miss my stop, so I made it to work, but as I sat at my desk to get some work done, my lower back was in really bad shape. Even bending just a little brings on pain. It’s probably because I dozed off in the train with my back all twisted, I thought to myself—and when I wonder just when I’ll ever be freed from this misery of commuting, I feel a wave of sadness.