Chantelle, Her Bag & I

Today was yet another interesting day on the Northern line. I boarded the train this morning with my guitar in tow. Yes, I know rush hour isn’t the time to be logging baggage on the trains but I didn’t have a choice so tough! Anyway, mindful of the fact that my guitar would potentially be occupying someone’s standing space, I did all I could to move it out of the way. In a rather unladylike fashion I shoved it between my thighs and resigned myself to the knowledge that no one would be chatting me up in that state.

Heaven only knows when the subject of the story hopped on the train. I was engrossed in the book I was reading so I was unaware of my surroundings. What I do know is that after a while, my thigh began to itch. I instinctively stretched one hand to scratch it, the other firmly grasping the book I was still engrossed in.

I couldn’t find my thigh.

I looked down in surprise and behold, there was a strange black leather handbag blocking access to it. That’s right, some woman had dumped her bag on my thigh! I guess it was all she could do seeing as she needed both her hands to grasp the newspaper she was reading.


I wasn’t sure how to react. It’s not every day a stranger assumes they can use your lap as a baggage rack.  Surely, she must have been aware of what she’d done? In true MEE fashion, I wasn’t going to say anything. Yep, that’s right, I’m a chicken! I found it funny and felt a little sorry for her; after all, she was sandwiched between a pole and a million bodies. I was about to return to my book when our eyes met. Just as I smiled at her, she looked at me like something the cat dragged in, kissed her teeth and returned to her paper!

Nah Chantelle, BAD BEHAVIOUR! I’m sure your mama taught you better than that?!

‘Excuse me, can you please take your bag off my lap?’

Yes, I decided I wasn’t having it. No way was she using me as her baggage rack after that ghetto display. She looked at me again, kissed her teeth and then snatched the bag off my lap.

There was no point taking the woman on, verbally or otherwise. She looked like she would tear a few strips of me and then grind me to powder.  

A wise man picks his battles wisely…so does a wise woman.

Putting her attitude down to mental health problems, I returned to my book in humility.




  1. What rubbish. After that display she would have found her bag on the floor with the contents scattered all over…pssst


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