Everyone loves to go on about how young people these days have no mannershow were lazy, disrespectful, and only care about ourselves. But recently, I learned a valuable lesson: sometimes, the person you should respect most is *yourself*, not some strangers sob storyespecially when they start taking your kindness for granted.
Id just finished a gruelling exam season, running on fumes and sheer willpower. All I wanted was to collapse into a deep, uninterrupted sleep on the train ride home. Id even splurged on a lower bunk ticket, thinking, *No way am I wrestling with the overhead berth in this state.* I boarded, settled in, and was just drifting off when a woman in her forties marched in with a boy who looked about seven.
She had the exhausted but determined air of someone whod had quite enough of lifes nonsense. As she unpacked, it became clear their tickets were for the upper bunks. She plonked herself down opposite me and launched into a monologue about her bad back, her hyperactive son, and how impossible it would be to manage him up there. Then came the inevitable request: *Would I mind swapping?*
I felt bad. Single mum, dodgy spinesure, fine. I climbed up to the top bunk like a sacrificial lamb, fully expecting at least *some* gratitude. Oh, how naive I was.
The boy, now sprawled luxuriously on *my* bunk, began wriggling like an eel in a bucket, kicking the mattress and rattling the metal fittings until the whole carriage shook. To top it off, he started humming some obnoxious video game tune *and* narrating his entire thought process at full volume. I endured it for a while, then mustered the energy to ask the woman if she could rein him in.
*”Oh, dont be so dramatic,”* she sighed, rolling her eyes. *”Hes just a child!”*
As if on cue, the little tyrant escalateddashing up and down the aisle, blasting cartoons from his phone, cackling, and generally treating the train like his personal playground. Sleep was now a distant dream.
Thats when I decided Id had enough. I climbed down, marched straight to the conductor, and explainedcalmly, no yellingthat while Id *volunteered* my lower bunk, I was now being subjected to what sounded like a toddler rave.
The conductor checked the tickets, gave the woman a firm look, and said, *”Madam, your ticket is for the upper bunk. Please occupy your assigned seats.”*
She huffed and protested, but rules are rules. With a dramatic sigh, she hauled her son up to their rightful berth, and I finally*gloriously*stretched out on my own bunk. For the first time in days, I slept like the dead, guilt-free and utterly at peace.
Moral of the story? Never sacrifice your own comfort for someone who wont even pretend to appreciate it.
