Tom Brown started to feel sleepy as the train approached the station.  The 7:08 from Syosset to Penn Station in Manhattan was filled with the usual flock of over-coated business drones and hung over construction types.  Brown always got the same seat because he always stood in the same place on the platform and made the same move into the car: quick step over the gap, two steps forward, a quick shift to the left and there it was…his seat by the window.  He would read the Daily News for ten minutes, which was how long it took him to drink his coffee (light, two sugars), which he purchased from the same roach coach vendor just before he got on the escalator up to the windy platform.  If, by some ungodly chance, there was someone in his usual seat, Brown would feel queasy and anxious the entire 47 minutes into New York and his day would be an exasperating attempt to recapture his safe monotony.  He dreaded the thought of someone being in his seat and it occupied his thoughts from the time he woke up at 5:42 until the train doors opened.  He was fortunate most of the time.  Usually, his car was pretty empty so the odds of anyone jumping his seat before him were minimal, but every so often…

There she was…a blubbering, corpulent, red-faced woman of about sixty…in his seat!  He immediately felt violated and vulnerable.  To make things worse she looked greasy and had an odor that reminded Brown of hot garbage and that meant his seat would be forever stained with her dirty meat.  He tried to make it look like he was just another schlep on the train and plopped down in the first seat available, which was across the aisle from Fat and Greasy.  As the doors slid closed they sucked in a burst of the cool autumn air and what should have been an enjoyable bouquet was tarnished as, once again, he caught a whiff of her stench which further escalated his rage.  She read one of those ridiculous gossip magazines while she pushed a chocolate donut into her fat face; a Yoo-Hoo with one of those bendy straws sat wedged between her legs.  She wore lime green slacks and black maid shoes and her bulk was draped in a large black trench coat.  The blacks, and greens, and red skin, and the smell and the grease… all overwhelmed Tom Brown to the point of action.  He was so angry that he was nauseous.  There was still forty-five minutes to go and he had no idea how he would be able to cope.  He got up and moved to a seat at the back of the car to separate himself from his nemesis.  For the remainder of the trip, Brown looked at the back of the tubby maid’s head and plotted her demise.

The balance of Brown’s day was spent trying to regain his sense of control.  It wasn’t until he was about to leave work that the fog from the maid’s morning assault began to lift.  Brown didn’t worry about his seat for the ride home because he preferred to stand the entire trip.  He had done that once, just after the Bad Day, and it stuck.  Now he had to stand every trip home or something horrible might happen to someone he cared about.  Now, as he leaned against the partition that separated the seating areas in the car, he calmly and scientifically thought about the maid.  What if she was in his seat again tomorrow?