Katie's Blog: Size Matters

Last Friday I was heading back from New York to DC after work on the 5:39pm Amtrak regional train.  For those of you who don’t know the politics of the mad dash to the train in NYC, let me break it down. 

You don’t have an assigned seat or any of that mess.  You just gaze desperately up at the announcement board that will tell you what track your train is coming on.  Sometimes you can “figure it out” by the small cluster of people who seem to have some inside information and are hanging out around a certain area.  I’m so anxiety ridden trying to “get it right” that I circle the entire floor and try to use the Law of Attraction with persistent thoughts like… “I clearly picture Katie Rost riding the escalator just below the sign that reads Track 14 West.  I’m holding this vision in my mind with absolute certainty.  I see and I believe and I will receive.” I can’t be certain other people aren’t doing the same thing.  I’m sure New York City is full of people who have mastered “The Secret”.  Sometimes I call it, sometimes I don’t.  When I’m chanting to myself and rooting for Track 14 West and it ends up being Track 5 East, I just assume that while my use of 'The Secret' is excellent, someone else in the train station who is slightly more skilled in their thinking in that exact same moment has attracted another gate and I’ve just got to be clearer with the Universe in the future.  (obvs!)The reason calling the track is so important is that once you get on the train the primo seat next to a window is taken first.  The person who sits there usually piles all of their crap on the adjacent seat. If you miss the first wave of seat options you have to go train-to-train searching desperately for an alone seat.  Once you fail in this endeavor you have to choose the person whose dreams of uninterrupted space you are about to crush.

“I’m sorry is this seat taken?” you say with a corny apologetic grin.

You then watch them force a smile, say “No” and painstakingly remove all of their crap from the seat.

It’s just no fun to be late to get a seat on the train.

I had a business class ticket on Friday.  Which ups the chances that no one will be sitting next to me and that I will get the window seat.  Regardless, I was ready to haul ass when the track was announced.  I’d used the Law of Attraction perfectly, and I did indeed get a good seat.  Once I was situated however-- feeling rather pleased with myself, I was disrupted by some heavy breathing to my right.  I looked up to find a 400-pound bald brother at my side.  He was rocking an addidas warm up suit with the Jamaica colors, holding an extraordinary amount of personal affects and grasping a deli bag that reeked of something involving onions and artery clogging meat. 

I already knew the “is this seat taken” was eminent.  So, I decided to pretend that I’m a really friendly nice person who loves when 400-pound strangers sit next to me with stinky food.  Might as well make the best out of it, right?! 

So I cleared the seat before the question came out of his mouth.  I then smiled big and said, “Look, my shoes match your outfit!” and pointed down to my Shell Toes with the Jamaica colors.”  He seemed very pleased that I was kind. 

I began contemplating how difficult it must be for someone that over weight to ever ask to sit next to someone on a train without feeling bad about their weight.  I decided to hammer in the niceness in a