OAKLAND — A grown man two rows behind me slumped in his seat, his blue poncho hanging loosely on his limp body. His eyes were open, but there was no human behind them.
A woman standing over him launched F-bombs his way as vomit lay on the concrete below. In his drunken haze, this man was convinced he was in the right seat. For about three minutes, his significant other watched as the woman berated him. The row’s actual occupants stood nearby, waiting for their seats to open (they ended up sitting elsewhere to avoid the vomit).
Finally, the man pulled up his electronic ticket on his phone.