"Karma, karma, karma, karma, Karma Chameleon" --Culture Club

Act 1)  As we enter the Metro car, I notice a woman is sitting in the first seat of a fairly crowded Metro train, in the aisle seat.  No one is in the window seat.  I make eye contact with her, a clear challenge.  Oh, yeah, I'm all over the glaring.  To my surprise, she moves.  That is, she moves her knees, only, out toward the aisle:  the universal symbol for "you can squeeze by me."  I squeeze by her, thinking "maybe she's getting off at the next stop."  Nope.  We travel past half a dozen stops and wind up getting off before her, which means I get to squeeze by her again.  WTF, lady?!  Do you just crave the feel of strangers awkwardly brushing by you?

Act 2)  Karma, I love you.  As we are riding and I am questioning what this chick's problem is, a short man with a messenger bag strapped across his back gets on the train and positions himself with one hand on the vertical bar and the other stretched awkwardly up to the overhead bar, his legs trying to stay planted broadly, a la Larry Craig.  He is stretched out like he's playing Twister.  Or maybe desperate to de-wedgie his underwear without actually using his hands.  Because this would be a hard position to maintain for anyone, much less someone of his shortitude, he is anything but stable, the messenger bag swings wildly behind him and very close to the face of my charming seatmate.  Repeatedly.  The trip gets a lot more entertaining.

Questions du jour (pick any or all): 

1. What is wrong with people?!
2. Does anyone ever play Twister except as an excuse for physical contact?
3. Why did our parents buy Twister?!??  What were they thinking?!
4. Should bags have an indicator to tell the carrier "Hey!!  I'm about to crash into someone!"?
5. Is karma real?