For the Doubtful

It was a cool winter afternoon like any other as I walked up the hill from my last class to one of the many campus bus stops. Crowds are easier to get through at 1:00 than they are in the mornings, but the noise from students chattering on their cell phones is matched only by the passing of cars on nearby. At the bus stop the bus rounds the corner right on time pulling in ever so slowly- hissing and screeching until coming to a complete stop. As the doors swing open and students clamor through the bottleneck entrance of the bus, I notice something that is bit of a rarety. There it was: the kooshy seat section- vacant. Now, this may seem like nothing to you "too good for a bus" types, but to us common bus-riding folk this is a treat to behold. A place for the elite citizens of the bus-riding microcosm (and the disabled). Never before had I laid posterior on its cushiony surface. Ne'er before had I endulged in the flush cotton coverings. Instead I frequented the packed seats in the back most of the time; seats devoid of the contentment that only the kooshy seat could bring on the pot hole-laiden journey home.
So I siezed the opportunity.
It was sometime in the middle of my delighted trance and about two stops into the journey home that we stopped for a couple stragglers. One was a young man in his twenties and the other was a middle-aged woman possibly in her forties. In true gentleman form the young man took to the bus steps first and found the last available commoner seat near the back. So there stood the woman searching in vain for an opening- and standing right in front of me. Here came the struggle. I claimed a place in the kooshy section way before she had struggled her way onboard and she was the one who was late! The young man who went before her so greedily should be the one to give up his seat. But I had to be the better person no matter how terrible it would be to sacrifice the tranquility of what was slowly becoming a throne in my mind. Back and forth I restled with myself on the battlefield of the mind for what felt like hours, but I had finally come to a decision as the bus began to regain momentum. I took hold of my bag and coat and began to stand, but as I turned to look I saw another gentleman who had just given his seat in the commoner's section to the grateful woman and was now standing, returning my stare. As I realized the situation and the implication of me standing there out of seat, I reclaimed the kooshy seat at once.
I hadn't quite given up the seat, but at least I was willing to give it up (even if it was too late) and it was on this note that I palled my inability to do the right thing without a second thought. As the ride drew on, the throne became a bit of a thorn. I began to notice springs and lumpiness in what I thought was the plushness of its interior. Further still down the road I found myself quite miserable for what I had done (or hadn't done in this case) and I was reminded of this at every stop the bus made at which the man would remain at his position, swaying back and forth trying to steady himself.
The moral of this story is that the kooshy seats always look kooshier on the other side of the bus, but don't let that kooshiness keep you from doing what's right the first time . And that's all I have to say about that. :D
.:fIn:.