(Average Reading Time: 4 minutes)
This morning, I experienced a typical Berlin mid-November scene: a tram packed with moody, wet adults, adolescents, and children on their way to work and school. The energy was subdued yet calming. Despite the lack of enthusiasm and excitement, there was a certain peace in the air. Everyone was minding their own business, respecting the unspoken agreement to keep conversations minimal. Heads were buried in screens, books, or gazing out of the window.
As usual, I took out the book I was currently reading and, within moments, was completely absorbed. The city noises, the smell of soaked bodies—all of it faded as I was drawn deeper into the story. The opening and closing of doors at each stop and the subtle shifts in the crowd barely registered as I turned page after page.
Then, the flow of the commute was interrupted. A woman with a bike entered the tram exactly where I was standing forcing me to make a couple of steps back and squeeze myself against a bench of strangers, including a tiny girl that had chosen a corner for herself to zoom out of the rest of the crowd. The woman with the bike pushed her way in, further jostling against the tightly packed passengers, risking injury to both children and adults standing shoulder to shoulder. Eyes turned toward her, expecting an apology, a conciliatory smile, or, better yet, her realizing the situation and stepping back out. But none of that happened. She stood there, straight and stiff, chin held high, exuding an air of entitlement I had rarely seen.
I noticed a baby seat attached to the back of her bike as she pressed a few children against the doors. The passengers, already drained and bracing for their day ahead, lacked the energy to challenge her behavior. It was simply too early for that. And me? I wouldn’t dare confront a mother during the morning rush in a city as ultra-feminist and politically correct as Berlin. Not a chance.
Still, like everyone else, I was irritated. The carefully curated, mid-November bubble of morning quiet had burst. The shared sense of empathy was gone, replaced by heavy sighs and exasperated glances as the tram carried us to the next stops.
Finally, my transfer stop arrived. I crossed the street to the S-Bahn at Alexanderplatz, boarded the train, and reopened my book, ready to return to my story.
Written on 14.11.2024
