On a reasonably regular basis I am hit with a lady’s handbag; usually when it’s hanging over the shoulder and tucked under the arm. It doesn’t bother me all that much; it’s actually a nice little breakup of an otherwise uneventful train ride. Most of the time I am struck with a section of the bag jutting out from behind the woman. I can sympathise because that portion’s not visible to its owner. For some reason, probably me, this idea came up in conversation last week.
“Fuck that,” my friend said. I was a little surprised by his remark. “It’s a lack of genuine courtesy.”
“We’re talking about little old ladies here,” I said, in defence.
“Maybe, but do you think it’s just me and you being struck by these bitches? Surely they’re victims of other oblivious bag carriers. Become aware for fuck’s sake.”
I wish he’d never said anything. I was hit this afternoon and I found it rather irritating.
“Fuck that,” my friend said. I was a little surprised by his remark. “It’s a lack of genuine courtesy.”
“We’re talking about little old ladies here,” I said, in defence.
“Maybe, but do you think it’s just me and you being struck by these bitches? Surely they’re victims of other oblivious bag carriers. Become aware for fuck’s sake.”
I wish he’d never said anything. I was hit this afternoon and I found it rather irritating.