I was boarding a packed commuter train with a heavy, explicitly measured carry-on suitcase. I found my reserved seat, but the overhead rack directly above it was entirely taken up by three massive shopping bags from an upscale department store, laid flat to prevent wrinkling.
A woman in the adjacent seat watched me look at the rack. "Oh, don't touch those," she said quickly. "Those are expensive silk dresses for a wedding. If you put your bag up there, they’ll get crushed."
"Where should I put my bag?" I asked.
"Well, there's space at the very end of the carriage, near the doors," she suggested, as if offering a brilliant solution.
"If I put my bag there, I can't see it, and it's a high-theft zone," I said, already lifting my suitcase. "I paid for this seat, which includes the use of this rack."
"You are going to ruin a bride's day!" she hissed, trying to block the rack with her hand.
"Then the bride should have bought a garment bag or a first-class ticket," I said. I gently but firmly pushed her hand aside, slid her shopping bags closer together so they were upright, and slotted my suitcase right into the designated space. She spent the next two hours radiating pure, silent fury, which honestly made the journey quite peaceful.