From: Claudio.Terrorist@ed.ac.uk (ObTerrorist)
Newsgroups: alt.peeves
Subject: Please leave this seat to the intellectually challenged
Date: 8 Sep 92 16:52:22 GMT
Reply-To: Claudio.Terrorist@ed.ac.uk (ObTerrorist)
Organization: The Exploding Hot Drink

I found the following article lurking in my home directory, probably I
typed it and then forgot to post it.

For years trains and busses have had a few seats "Reserved to the
invalids". The PC-mania of the 1990s made the signs to change to
"Reserved to the motionally-challenged", or something similar, but
the concept remained: if anybody on a wheelchair, or an elder person
who can't walk too well, comes in, please leave this seat free for them.
These seats are conveniently located next to the door, to make things
as easy as possible, and are generally a good idea, provided you understand
that 25-year old computer scientists can't walk either.

However, recently I've seen the introduction of a new kind of reserved
seats. "Please leave this seat to the intellectually challenged" doesn't
say the sign, because the seats are aimed to people who wouldn't notice
the sign if they bumped into it. Last night I was coming back from
Edinburgh to Bristol and I made the mistake to sit next to one of those
reserved seat. I claim it wasn't completely my fault, because seats are
not marked in any conventional way. Yet, there are obvious symptoms that
they are reserved for the less intellectually abled.

Take the litter bin, for example. Those old InterCity trains have one
bin per carriage, in the centre; if you know where it is, you find it.
Otherwise, you end up piling stuff on the little table in front of you,
and, when there is too much of it, ask the conductor to direct you to
the nearest bin. They move the bins after each journey, so next time
you'll have to ask again.

I should have known that there was something wrong with those four seats.
There was an additional bin, marked with a five foot tall fluorescent
sign flashing: "Litter" just next to one of the seats. The first person
to seat there had two cans of beer. Opened the first one, drank it.
Started looking around. Every second, he was more worried, and was
frantically checking every single inch of the carriage. Eventually he
gave up: "Obviously, there is no bin", he said to himself, and left the
can on the table. A similar course of events celebrated the end of the
second can. Then he left the train.

At the next station, two more people come in. Husband and wife, I
understand. Not that it matters, really. They carefully checked every
single seat in the empty carriage. Guess which one they decided to take.
They sat. Started attracting the attention of all the relatives who
were looking from the platform to see what happened. "Is that yours?"
ask somebody from outside. "What?" "The cans of beer". Eeek! Two
empty cans of beer on my table. How can I survive a journey with two
cans of beer on my table. The man was almost panicking. Eventually, he
had The Idea (tm). He took the cans with a firm grasp. No, he didn't find
the bin either. He had even a better idea. He threw the cans over the
luggage railings, with the idea of leaving it forever or until the train
got cleaned - just after hell freezes over, I think.

It was about at this point that he and his wife noticed that the cans
weren't empty. They couldn't help notice: getting a shower of beer is
something nobody can fail to notice! Luckily, that missed me for about
half an inch. I decided it was about time to change seats. They spent
the rest of the journey trying to clean themselves.

They eventually left the train, and I was still there. It made me thing
that I had a long journey. It also made me think that, when this train
would terminate, I'd have had to change and suffer a bit longer. Never
mind. I had a portable CD player, and had still 6 hours of batteries to
go. So, no problem. For some reason, the whole carriage was shaking like
mad, especially when the engine pulled it at what it thought to be top
speed, and was about twice as fast as the fastest train when the carriages
had been built. But my CD player proved remarkably resistant to all the
shaking, and the music never interrupted. This, until Mr. Muscle come
in. Again, he headed to The Seats. But first, he decided to close the door.
Unlike everybody else, he had to show that He Knew How To Close A Door.
He pulled the handle, using all his force. When the door closed with a
bang, my CD played decided it was far too much, and turned itself off.
The carriage had an inclination of approximately 45 degrees, and it was
by pure chance that it managed to get back to a vertical position after
about fifteen-hundred oscillations. In the meantime, the window over the
door complained loudly and left for quieter premises.

I eventually got off that train. I'll never use it again. Next time it's
walking for 400 miles.

--
The ObTerrorist
Newsgroups: alt.peeves