Something's Fishy

I’m not a huge fan of riding back from the North Bay at rush hour, but occasionally I found myself in exactly this predicament. Packing in like sardines in a smelly train car is not exactly my idea of a pleasant afternoon, thank you very much.

So I had been standing jammed in a crowded Fremont train for about six stops. The annoying passenger squished next to me felt it necessary to park his rolling shopping cart right at my feet, using my shoe as a wheel block. For the past half an hour the metal contraption had been rolling over my feet every time the train took a banked corner. I wasn’t too thrilled.

We finally arrived at San Leandro, a popular station among exiting passengers, and Cart Dude decided to off-board, making sure to roll his heavy cart over my feet one last time, just for good measure.

I looked around, trying desperately to find an empty seat. Just then, an elderly Asian gentleman stood up from his seat, and gathered his shopping bags before exiting the car. As the man walked past me, I caught the distinct odor of what smelled like rotting seafood.

Fighting the gag reflex, as well as a few other weary passengers who were eyeing his recently vacated seat, I removed my backpack and sat down. I was overjoyed to have finally scored a chair, and I relaxed as I dropped my backpack to the floor.

SPLISH.

I was confused. It wasn’t raining outside, and the floors of the BART cars generally do not otherwise go “splish.”

I slowly looked down when that same hideous fishy odor hit me. The smell almost knocked me out.

I was horrified. My backpack was swimming in a puddle of cloudy yellowish fish juice, which must have leaked from the man’s shopping bag.

I scooped up my backpack and practically leaped from the seat. I stood in the aisle and surveyed the damage.

The sludge was everywhere. As soon as the train picked up speed, the liquid began running toward the back of the car. I felt really sorry for the woman wearing open-toed sandals. She was in the direct path of the oncoming slop.

Angry, I rode the rest of my commute standing. Right before I exited the train, a fellow standing passenger noticed the empty seat and took it. He put down his briefcase.

SPLISH.