To all of the passengers on the morning Bedford-to-Downtown bus, you know who you are. I realized, years ago, that chivalry is dead on Metro Transit, but I can’t help but feel that our community has sunk to a new low when my six-months pregnant self has to stand for the entire commute each morning, while all of you sit in comfort.
I know it’s early and you’re all tired/lazy/cranky. For weeks I’ve been giving you all the benefit of the doubt, assuming that maybe you can’t tell that I’m pregnant. Well, my ability to hide it and your ability to ignore it has long-since passed.
I know that I am neither disabled nor elderly as the signs indicate, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask that one of those reserved front seats be vacated for me as I waddle onboard. And I don’t think it should be left up to me to awkwardly ask one of you to give me your seat.
By all means, continue to avert your eyes from my belly when I look in your direction. We wouldn’t want your conscience to get the better of you and cause you to yield your seat to a woman with a uterus the size of a soccer ball. —The preggo passenger