I had to fight off two aisle-campers yesterday. One of them was a particulary vicious species — I call them angryblackwomen glareitus. They, along with the obliviousasian slowpokeitus, fatty twoseaters, body jerkeritus, and chirping whitetouristus are the bane of a daily Metro rider’s peace.

Not to target any specific race or gender. There’s something for everyone.

Back to my story: When I tried to indicate very solemnly that I would like to sit down in the very empty seat next to her, she glared at me. It was a 10 megaton glare. I actually could see her choosing her glares from a her weapons cabinet. “Hmm, no, not that one… no… ooh, yeah, that one.” We don’t need half of the weapons in the U.S. Military; just hire this woman and a few of her friends.

She finally lets me sit down. But, does she scoot over and let me sit on the aisle? No, not so fast, buster. It’s not going to be quite that easy.

Instead, she gets up and imperiously allows me to sit down at the window seat. Then she sits down again, next to me, stiff as a board. Just turn her over and you could iron a few shirts on her back. Mom! Where’s the starch?

Am I the only one who notices these gems of humanity on the Metro?