It’s All in the Name

It’s All in the Name

The seat was his. It had his name on it. Therefore the seat was his. Every day, Sean went to school on the IRT subway. He got on the subway at the first stop, 242nd street. He always went to the third car from the end and sat in the first seat next to the middle door of the subway car. It was his seat. 

“I can’t believe it’s this guy again. Every day he has to come in first thing on our run and place his stinkin’ backside on me. It’s bad enough that he sits on me every day, but once, he took out a permanent marker and wrote his stupid name on me. The guy should be arrested for defaming public property.”

Of course, there were the weekends. On those days, Sean did not have to go to school. It should have been a respite from the burden of being a reserved seat. However, Sean always managed to have a reason for going to the city every day. So he made it a point to be there each day. And through some mystical luck of the train scheduling system, it was always the same train that Sean got on. 

“There’s no break for me. That idiot passenger always manages to find me. What is it that he knows that I don’t?”

It turns out that Sean’s father was a master scheduler for the NYC Subway system. The train depot, which was right off of the 242nd street station, was where he worked. He knew exactly what trains would be where, and when they would be there. He loved telling his son every night when Sean’s train was going to be in the station next. 

That all came to a halt the day that Sean’s father retired and the subways needed an upgrade. The subway that Sean always used was retired and replaced with a newly designed car. It had air conditioning and seats that were more durable. In fact, the car that Sean always went into had a conductor stationed inside the car. He was there to make sure no one damaged or graffitied any of the seats or walls. 

Sean was devastated. He refused to ride the subway ever again. 

The subway car with Sean’s name on it was left to be repurposed. It was to be used as a period piece in a park as a rest station for weary park goers and when the weather got bad. 

That would be the end of the Sean story. That is unless you happen to be taking the Number 20 bus number 81022  from 238th street, into upper Manhattan, at a certain time. When you get there, get on to it, and if your name is Sean, there is a seat with your name written in permanent marker on the right side of the bus, opposite the exit door towards the back of the bus. It’s all yours.