Train Ride

So, tugging her shirt down desperately to hide her panties, she shuffled towards the awaiting train, crowded with people...

The doors opened. The people inside stared at her.

Well.

Some of them stared at her, she quickly realized, most of them were staring at their phones.

She exhaled, somewhat relieved. With one hand clutching the hem of her shirt and the other holding her bag in what she hoped was a strategically useful position, she hurried into the carriage.

An elderly woman looked her over thoughtfully.

“Bold,” she said.

“The escalator ate my pants. It wasn’t intentional!”

“Of course not,” the woman replied. “That's what could make it a new fashion trend.”

The warning signal began to beep.

She had no time to explain.

The doors closed behind her.

A college student sitting nearby looked up from his phone.

“Cool outfit,” he said.

“It’s not an outfit!”

He considered this.

“Nah, doesn't matter. I still think it's cool.”

She huffed.

Across the aisle, a businessman lowered his newspaper.

“Excuse me,” he said.

She braced herself.

What's next?

“Yes?”

“Is this some kind of protest?”

“What?”

He nodded toward her lower half.

“A capitalism-critical grassroots movement against the pressure to consume imposed by fast fashion from exploitative multinational corporations? Or are you just against pants?”

“No! The escalator ate them!”

The businessman slowly raised his newspaper again.

“Berlin,” he murmured. “I stopped being surprised a long time ago.”

The train began to move. Shaking and jerking.

She grabbed a pole with one hand.

Immediately, her shirt rode up.

She stared determinedly at the floor.

The floor, unfortunately, had no interest in helping.