Should a heavily-pregnant woman have to ask fellow commuters for aseat before she is reduced to sitting on the floor, asks Alison Healy
It's the same thing every morning. I stand on the train platform, open my coat and shove out my bump. At nearly seven months pregnant, there's no mistaking me for someone who has spent too long nibbling at the biscuit barrel.
The train arrives and only the strongest survive. We stampede on board and frantically look left and right as a step in the wrong direction could lose precious seconds. But it makes little difference. All the seats are gone. This is the third stop at 9.15 a.m. - hardly rush hour for Iarnród Éireann, one would think.
Then comes decision time. Do you stand in the aisle and wait for someone to offer you a seat? This is a high-risk strategy because, if no one gives in, you are left floundering in the passageway for 40 minutes. Or do you opt for the area around the door, where you can rest against the carriage wall and avoid fainting into someone's lap 20 minutes into the journey?
I have tried both options. But I still find myself standing until I get dizzy. Then I slither to the floor to sit on my bag for the remainder of the journey. When you stand in the aisle and pat your bump, people suddenly become inordinately interested in their books, newspapers or mobile phones. They will do anything to avoid meeting your baleful gaze. To date, the grand total of two people have offered me a seat. Both young people.
On the other hand, I have waged battles with middle-aged people who outsmart me at every move and show amazing agility in beating me to the final seat on the train. I have watched one particular man with fascination. We get on at the same carriage every morning and race to take one of the two flip-up seats that sometimes go unnoticed by other passengers.
The other week, I beat him to it and waddled to the last seat, only to find him sneaking by me on the inside and triumphantly taking it. I stood in front of him and contemplated resting my bump on his lap but he buried his head in his magazine.
However, his fellow passenger took pity on me and gave me his seat. So all was well with the world. Or was it? Two stops later, an elderly couple got on. I watched them as they struggled to stay on their feet. I couldn't let this continue so I offered them my seat. The woman gratefully accepted and I expected that the middle-aged man would be shamed into giving up his seat to the husband. But no, his head descended so deeply into the magazine that I feared he would topple over.
Friends tell me I should just ask someone to give up their seat. But surely a heavily-pregnant woman should not have to ask for permission to sit down? And if you do decide to ask, who do you pick on? Suppose I ask that middle-aged man, and he says: "Well actually, I have a life-threatening condition and will be dead in a fortnight." Or suppose the woman I ask is too distressed to stand, having just found out that her husband has eloped with the au pair?
Iarnród Éireann say standing is the norm on commuter services around the world and trains are designed for this, but they agree that it is unfortunate that people are not more chivalrous.
So I am condemned to pay €3.20 a day to sit on a train floor. Taking the bus is not an option as it arrives too early or too late, while driving into Dublin could cost up to €30 a day in parking fees.
At the risk of looking like a nerd, I am considering buying one of those fold-up walking sticks that has a seat on top. So whom do I bill for this? Iarnród Éireann? The generations of Irish parents who have failed to teach their children good manners? Or the advertising agency that came up with the "because I'm worth it" line which tells people to put themselves first and ignore the needs of others?