What is wrong with people these days? Can they not understand the meaning of a saved seat? SAVED! Like Elaine shouting at fellow moviegoers at a 10:30 showing of "Checkmate." If something is left in place, that means the people will be right back. That space is saved. Not up for grabs. The belongings are not ripe for the taking. They are saving the space for the person who got there first. Is that so difficult to understand?
I know I have taken on this issue of seat-usurpers before, in the context of faculty meetings and senior class scholarship presentations. But folks are still getting under my skin with their thieving ways.
At the writers' conference Saturday, The Pony and I hurried over to our next venue to pick our seats. (Heh, heh. I said PICK our seats!) I chose the end of a table in the back row. The Pony would sit beside me. When I took the elevator down to the restroom, I left him to watch my stuff. It was clear that somebody was sitting there. I left my padfolio, my glasses, and a cup of water on the table, and my carry bag in the chair. Nobody moved it. My seat was still fine after my bathroom visit. Heh, heh. But of course, I left my guard Pony.
Later, after lunch, I headed to that same room to hear my blog buddy, Donna, give a presentation. I got the same seat. People trickled in. The room was about 1/3 full when a guy came and put his folder on the table next to me, and his backpack in the seat. The tables held four people. On the other side of his stuff were two women. Guy turned and went out of the room. I could only surmise that he was taking the elevator to the restroom. More people joined us. In fact, that room only had a few seats left, up toward the front. It was not a big room. Kind of like a classroom. There were 8 or 10 tables.
Well. Donna had just started when a lady came in and started fiddling with that chair next to me. She looked at me and the other two women, and said, "Is somebody sitting here." I spoke up for my guard-pony-less Guy. "A man left his stuff there. I think he's coming back."
That wench pulled back the chair, picked up Guy's backpack, took his folder, and put them on the floor against the back wall. Then she sat down there. What nerve! It was not my battle to fight, but I felt bad for Guy.
A couple of minutes later, Guy came in, ready to sit down. But there was Wench in his seat. I hope he didn't think I gave it away. Or that I knew her. Wench said, "Oh, do you want me to get up?" Not, "Here. I'm sorry. Let me give you your seat back."
Guy took the high road. "I'll just find another seat." So he picked up his stuff, and wiggled his way in to a seat against the wall two tables ahead.
That's not right! Wench should have wiggled HER way into an open seat. Not Guy. He picked his seat (heh, heh) in the back so he wouldn't disrupt anything when he returned after doing his business. Wench knew she was late the minute she came in.
I'll bet she goes to movies after all the previews, and asks the usher to move people over so she can sit on the aisle.
2 comments:
AND (this aggravates me too) she probably roars up in her car to the front of the line--when two lanes are merging into one and she well knows it--and expects people to give her an engraved invitation to butt in front of them after they merged a while ago and have been idling patiently... and people let her. (That bothers me as well.)
We have to "just say no." No, you cannot butt in front of me. You will have to sit here for half an hour in this lane, waiting, until someone is fiddling with their radio and doesn't see you and you have enough space to slip in. No, you cannot steal that seat. Stand for the session, for all I care. You should have gotten there on time and gotten a seat like the rest of the people.
Just say no. If we all did it, there'd be less of these space-stealers, because they'd learn their lesson...
Sioux,
To my credit, I DID tell her Guy was saving that space. I did not want to interrupt Donna's session by standing up and challenging that usurper to a leg-wrestling contest over a stranger's chair.
The Merger? When I worked on South Broadway before Genius was born, our office was flooded during '93. We were sent to the Crestwood office, much farther for us, and traffic all in a snarl because of flooding re-routes down south. I rode with a guy who was a retired Air Force communications dude. He combed his hair in a pompadour, kicked off his left pointy-toed Beatle boot, and drove home with his foot resting on the side mirror every evening.
Pompy liked nothing better than to let a car inch in...closer...wait for it...almost merge...bumper in...THEN GAS IT WHILE POINTING AND LAUGHING. And shouting, "Ha ha! You took the cheese!"
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