Rail Rage

I heard that there are people in Japan who have the job of physically pushing commuters into the overcrowded metros to utilize every square inch of the car. If not for insurance issues and potential civil liberties violations, I think the MTA might consider similar rush hour policies. Squishing onto the 2 train at 8:37 a.m. (I'm early for work today) I brace myself for the ride. As usual, the majority of the passengers tower over me and and I identify with Baby Jessica at the bottom of my own man-made well. I stand on my toes and seek up. I am part of Emma Lazarus's huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
And then I see it- an empty seat across the aisle, seductive in its orange plastic-ness, beckoning to me. Miraculously, there are no elderly, disabled, or pregnant individuals around. So in keeping with the unspoken New York mass transit custom, as a female it can be mine. Heart racing, I nonchalantly (as nonchalantly as one can be snaking through an urban mosh pit) wiggle my way ("sorry", "excuse me", "excuse me", "sorry") close to the seat that for some reason the entire standing train mob must not have noticed.
I give a quick glance at my potential seat-neighbors, a conspiritorial glint in my eyes, as if to say "Behold, Comrades, we've beaten the system." But they give me no response! In fact, my fellows seem to be avoiding my glance! But I've got no time to concern myself with their refusal to join the revolution. I do a graceful half-turn, body already properly bent for seating, drop myself down onto the seat and....splash!
My bottom is in shock. "God, I hope this is water", I think as the rear layers of my clothes saturate. I feel betrayed, I feel hurt, I feel wet, I feel......rage. I turn to my enemy on the right and for the first time I speak aloud.
Excuse me?!?! (the she-devil averts her eyes)
Yeah, you! (hint of eye contact) Did you see when I was about to sit down? (barely audible 'uuuuuuuh')
Did you know this seat was wet when you saw I was going to sit down? ( mumbled 'I dunno')
WHATever. Soon the train jerks to a halt at the 14th Street stop. The seat on the other side of my former-potential-comrade is free. I clear my throat, cover the new seat with a newspaper to absorb the (hopefully) water from my skirt, etc., and plop down. I cross my arms across my chest looking smug. Sure, maybe she and everyone within earshot thinks I'm crazy, but I'd finally said my piece.
I am not a victim. This is MY orange seat. Damn straight