This post is dedicated to Jayne, who lives with this horror every day, and to Julia, who knows that this is an international epidemic.
Look guys, I think we need to have a fundraiser. We’re going to be raising awareness for elderly and disabled bags that clearly don’t get enough seats on the bus. Seats that are otherwise greedily taken up by elderly, pregnant, and disabled humans (eugh, humans).
These poor bags have to carry groceries from point A to point B and then suffer the disgrace and shame of being placed on the floor like some kind of objects. The humiliation and lack of empathy is astounding. Where’s the ACLU? Where’s Rosa Parks? WHERE IS THE JUSTICE?
So, to the brave souls who stand up to convention and put their bags on the seats, even on crowded buses, I applaud you. You spit in the face of logic, courtesy, common sense, but most of all–injustice. You look at empty seats where a tired child or grandmother may sit and you think, “No! This shall be the where I lay my bag, so that all who look upon it shall know that it is a bag and it has feelings, too. And it deserves a seat on this bus just like any of the meatbags around me.”
And if anyone dares question you or asks you to move said bag so that they may rest their weary bones, you will respond, “HATH NOT A BAG EYES? If you prick it, does it not leak? If you tickle it, does it not crinkle? If you tear it, does it not die?” (You’re not great at Shakespeare, but that won’t stop you on your righteous path of bag justice.)
So, to those crusaders of bag equality and civil bag rights, I dedicate this poem.
Proudly placing a bag on the seat next to you,
You glow with smugness and a righteous dew.
Honor and courage and love you exude,
You don’t think for a moment that it could be rude.
And I’m glad that your bag’s not splayed out at my feet,
But does it have to be taking up one empty seat?
Is there no better place to be resting your wares,
Than the scarcely available empty chairs?
Perhaps a reminder is something you need,
Or a punishment fitting your unwelcome deed.
So the next time I see you, I’ll pick up your bag.
With each swing as I hit you, I’ll start to nag,
“Are you sure there’s no better use for this seat?
Look around! Think hard!” I’ll yell with each beat.
And I’ll see all the people around me rejoice,
That I’ve given the tired, old, and bagless a voice.
–Hello. My name is Tatiana and I have a rage problem. Help me vent by suggesting things that piss you off and I might write about it.