Train to Aggravation

As the train pulls into the station, I pay the newspaper vendor and quickly tuck the evening edition into my folio. It’s been a hectic day. I’m looking forward to being home soon.  As I move towards my compartment, I don’t quite realize it yet... but I will meet a peevish, foolish, selfish person on the train today.

I move in and find someone else on my seat. “Excuse me, but I think this seat’s mine.” The man cranes his neck to check the seat number and then quietly moves to the opposite chair. He looks rough and unkempt, and reeks of cigarettes and cheap perfume. I keep my folio bag on the table, pay a quick visit to the restroom, return to my seat, and am about to reach for the newspaper... when I realize my co-passenger has beaten me to it. There he is, without so much as a by-your-leave, his face buried deep in the sports supplement.
 

I grudgingly pick up the remaining pages and scan through the news. In about 20 minutes I’m straining at my leash, yearning to read up on the day's cricket match. I want that sports supplement. Now! But the man is not just impolite; he’s a slow reader! As the minutes pass, my impatience advances to a state of slow burn, and then to full blown resentment.

Finally, after what seems an eternity, he keeps the supplement down and gets up for the restroom. Here’s my chance! I snatch at it. The man looks at me with a puzzled expression. Then he nods knowingly, points at the sports page, and says: “India lost by 10 runs.”

"What the...!” I shove the newspaper into the front pocket of the folio – I don’t feel like reading it anymore - and move to a recently-vacated seat on the other side. I ignore the man when he returns and keep staring out of the window. The passing landscape looks dark and gloomy. Just like my mood.

A few minutes later my station arrives. As I move out into the aisle, the man looks up, gives an embarrassed half-smile, and points at my folio. “The newspaper?” What insolence! "I haven't finished reading it." I snap back, and walk off without waiting for his reaction. I keep walking toward the taxi booth, absentminded - the world around me a blur, in my head a million conflicting voices. I’m brooding. I’m boiling. Honestly, I’ve never come across a complete stranger who could be so aggravating.

I get into a taxi, crumple up the pages, and throw them out of the window. But I’m still festering inside, and need something to take my mind off the incident. "Maybe I should look through the sales figures". I reach into the folio and pull out the files. And then I see it. The newspaper. My newspaper! Unopened. Unmolested. Exactly where I had kept it before I boarded the train.

At the beginning of the story I said that I would meet a peevish, foolish, selfish person on the train that day. I did. But it wasn’t him. It was me.