My Missing Arm Beats Your Missing Foot

A small sticker above each section of four seats reminds passengers that they are to relinquish their seat if any passenger really needs that seat.

This is common sense. If an old woman totters onto the train, five people jump out of their seats, in a spontaneous and collective effort to get the woman seated before the train starts moving again, she loses her balance, she breaks her hip, and no one gets to work on time.

The Paris metro, though, is prepared for a number of situations. The list not only details the types of people who require seats, but the order in which those people have priority to those seats, if they should all find themselves aboard the same car during rush hour.

Translated from the RATP online guide to being a good passenger, the sign reads:

In the cars, certain seats are reserved by priority and chronologically to:
- Disabled war veterans
- Blind persons
- Disabled, from work or other reason
- Pregnant women or people accompanied by small children
- Old and/or incompetent people.

So according to the RATP, it's not how diabled you are, but how you were disabled. A man who lost his left foot in World War II has the right to kick a blind man out of his seat. Likewise, the Blind Man gets a seat before the guy who lost all four limbs in a tragic factory incident. A man who accidently cut off his own thumb while chopping up a carrot takes a seat before the big-bellied woman or the woman with a baby on each hip and two on her back. And all of these people get to keep their seats if an old and/or incompetent person climbs on board.

You have to give the RATP credit. They've thought this thing through and are ready for throngs of various incompetent/disabled/blind/pregnant/old people to ride the metro. But they neglect to address the possibility that a person might have two or more of the above handicaps. Does the war veteran still get priority over a blind and pregnant woman?

In any case, I'm a little upset to see that one of the few benefits of growing old--that is, automatic seating--is being down-played by the RATP. I've always looked forward to kicking those young hooligans out of their cooshy seats. I guess I'll just have to stay away from cars packed with higher-priority passengers. The RATP has really helped me on this one, seeing as how only about a third of the stations are handicap-accessible. But hey, at least they try to make up for it--the people on the priority list do get a nice fifty-percent discount.

Crazy Person #482

Line Thirteen, southbound toward Chatillon.

Sex: Male
Age: Approx. 47 years old

Passengers board the train, including Crazy Person #482. As soon as the buzzer sounds and the doors lock closed, the man hits panic. He rocks back and forth on the seat across from me, and then, in between stations, jumps to the door. Frantically and repeatedly, he jams his thumb into the door's button, cursing when it doesn't open.

This behavior continues until the next stop, when the door finally slides open. He cries, "Sweet Jesus!" and exits the train.

Speech #786

Transcript:

"Do you know my name?"
(dramatic pause)
"Do you know my name?"
(less dramatic pause)
"Yes, well neither do I. And who cares, anyway? I do know this: I am fifty-three years old. I ride the metro, and all I ask for is..."
(the train's rattling drowns him out momentarily)
"A little change. A little change could do me some good, and would give me great pleasure. As you know: the street is not pleasure, but money, well, it is. Extend your hands; help me out."

Number of charitable passengers: 4