Gonna need a bigger boat

Because I have the dubious honor of taking the subway home at the peak of the evening rush hour, there are a number of strategic decisions I'm faced with each weeknight. Things like which end of the platform to wait on for the best chance at an empty car, or which station entrance is least likely to be packed with lost tourists. For instance: I happen to know that between the stop at which I get on the train and the stop at which I get off the train, the doors open on the same side of the subway car the entire time, with one exception (23rd St). This means I often choose to lean against these mostly-unused doors, as no matter how crowded the train inevitably gets (34th St, 42nd St) I don't really have to move or scramble for something to hold on to, and then when I arrive at my stop there is nothing between me and the doors through which I need to pass.

However, sometimes when I'm waiting on the platform, the train arrives temptingly empty and I'm carrying shopping bags or something, and I have to decide whether or not to risk taking a seat. If I do, it's always the sticky-out seat in the middle of the car - to take anything else is pure folly as you're inviting strangers to squeeze in next to you and subject you to their body odor and generally offensive proximity. But even if I do wisely choose a sticky-out seat, when the train fills up I'm then stuck as far away from the doors as I could possibly be, watching a treacherous sea of hostile asses form between me and freedom.

These are the kinds of things I think about for the two hours a day I spend traveling between my office and my apartment. Stand by the doors or take the empty seat? Tonight I took the seat, and as I was faced once again with the ass-sea, I regretted it most keenly.