Chapter 6: Cracked Screens and Cracked Patience

You’ve got to be kidding me. I was watching something on my phone when his kick sent it tumbling to the floor.

The phone clattered against the metal footrest, the screen lighting up with a spiderweb of cracks. My heart sank.

I picked it up. The screen was toast.

The damage was clear—a jagged line splitting the glass, distorting the faces on the screen. I stared at it, stunned, the anger boiling over. That was it.

Enough. I’d been holding back this whole time, not wanting to get into it, but he just kept pushing it further.

I snapped. My hands shook as I cradled the phone. I could feel the dam breaking, all the frustration and humiliation spilling out at once.

I turned around, my face flushed with anger, and said, “Are you insane? You just broke my phone screen—are you looking for a fight? Where’s the attendant? This is harassment!”

Let them see. My voice was loud, echoing down the aisle. Heads turned, and for once, I didn’t care. I wanted everyone to see what he’d done.

I lost it and called for the attendant again.

I pressed the call button, waving the cracked phone in the air. The attendant hustled over, concern etched on his face.

The attendant came over, and I explained what happened. He put on a professional smile and said to the bald guy, “Sir, this violates train policy. I suggest you apologize and cover the cost of his screen.”

He meant it. His words were calm, but there was a warning in his eyes. He glanced at the bald guy, waiting for a reaction.

The bald guy’s face froze, then he frowned and shouted, “Are you all in cahoots with him or something? Why are you taking his side? He was playing his phone so loud it kept me from resting. What’s wrong with me reminding him? The phone broke because he didn’t hold onto it—what’s that got to do with me?”

Nobody bought it. He raised his voice, trying to rally the other passengers to his side. No one looked convinced. I could see a couple people roll their eyes.

Unbelievable. I was livid. He’d clearly started this, but now he was shifting all the blame onto me.

I wanted to scream, but I bit my tongue. I pressed my lips together, counting to ten in my head.

How do people like this exist?

I shook my head, half in disbelief, half in resignation. Some people really had no shame. None.

I said, “I’m not asking for money. Can you just tell him to stop kicking my seat? It’s driving me crazy.”

My voice was tight, the words tumbling out faster than I meant. I just wanted peace, nothing more.

The attendant listened, then turned to the bald guy. “Can you stop bothering other passengers?”

He was done too. His tone was firmer this time, the kind of voice you use when you’re at the end of your rope.

The bald guy snapped, “He stepped on my girlfriend’s foot first! Why aren’t you dealing with that?”

He jabbed a thumb at me, like he was the real victim. The attendant sighed, rubbing his temples. He was tired.

The attendant looked at me helplessly and said, “Sir, please just hang in there.”

His eyes were tired, pleading. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

I knew there was nothing the attendant could do with someone like this. He was stuck.

The rules only went so far, and jerks like him knew exactly how to bend them. I slumped in my seat, exhausted. I gave up.