As you make your way onto the train — realizing the only spot for you is conveniently sandwiched between two pairs of people — you sigh.
There's nothing worse than being stuck on this overcrowded, overheated train.
But oh, my friend, there is something worse. There is.
As you turn around, sweat dripping down your forehead (which, by the way, is also pounding from a HELLISH migraine because you haven't had your Starbucks yet), you find yourself up-close-and-personal with a couple making out, tongues wagging and all.
They're so in your face, you can practically taste the girl's lipstick. That's definitely Kat Von D, you think.
What a morning. You haven't even been awake for two hours, and you've already snagged a front-row seat to a show called, "Let's See Who Can Slobber Over Whom More."
Look, I get it. That's always a lot to take in, especially at 8 a.m. in the damn morning. It's downright unacceptable. And, no, you shouldn't have to deal with it.
Now, of course, there are different levels of PDA. An innocent hand-hold, a waist-grab, a wipe off the corner of your SO's mouth — those are all fine.
What I'm talking about is the full-on make out session you wish you could unsee, but is unfortunately permanently ingrained in your memory.
Of all the public make out sessions I've ever seen, that was one I'll never forget.
First of all, I just don't want to see that. Keep it in your pants, for Christ's sake. That's what home is for.
I often try to put myself in a couple's shoes, only to realize that, no matter who I was dating in the past or how much I liked him, I always felt squeamishly uncomfortable doing things with him in public.
Second, it's already known that couples who post lovey-dovey relationship statuses on Facebook are wildly insecure, so I can't help but wonder that two people sucking face — in my face — are ruining my train ride because they're insecure.
No, seriously. Sometimes, I notice the girl of the pair eyeing me down before she makes the executive decision to turn to her boyfriend and lick his whole face. (And no, I'm not a creep. I'm just hyperaware of my surroundings.)
Listen, homie. I don't want your man, but I guess I'm flattered you consider me a threat.
Third, I need to remind all PDA-abusing couples of the world that the public space isn't just your space to make out in. It's our space, too.
And when I say "our," I mean us single people of the world who don't have anyone to slobber all over. Our lives are hard enough.
Here's the catch, though: I can never not look at PDA.
I don't know what it is about it. It has some weird, mystical, magnetic power that makes everything in its radius gravitate toward it, but then immediately pull away.
It isn't so much the people, themselves, who draw me in. It's the making out part. It's unnatural, but captivating.
The public space isn't just your space to make out in. It's our space, too.
It's like seeing the aftermath of a car crash, watching a dog trying to walk on its hind legs, or sitting in a movie theater and covering your eyes at the scary parts (but low-key watching through the gaps between your fingers).
Whatever. It's not like I'm butt-hurt by the lives of those particular couples. I certainly do not want any part of that kissing sesh.
I'm just asking for some common courtesy here. Someone's got to stand up for the single people of the world. And, as usual, I'm willing to take the fall.
One day, when Sheena finally has a boyfriend (LOL, it feels weird to throw "Sheena" and "boyfriend" in the same sentence), she will exact sweet, sweet revenge on all the couples who made her already-sucky commute even suckier than it needed to be.
She will stick her tongue down her guy's throat. And it will be glorious.
Until then, I'll take my coffee and commute without a side of slobber. Please and thank you.