The Battle for the Last Seat

never thought something as simple as getting a seat on a bus could turn into a test of endurance I wasn’t ready for. That morning, I woke up late. I had overslept, and my heart sank when I saw the clock: I was already behind schedule.

I rushed through breakfast, barely managing a slice of bread, and ran out the door. At the bus stop, I saw it immediately the queue was long, and people were shoving and jostling to get on the bus. My stomach twisted. I’m thin, not very strong, and I hate struggling in crowded spaces. But I had no choice; I needed to get to work.

The bus arrived, squealing to a halt like it was trying to warn us off. Doors flung open, and people surged forward like waves hitting a shore. I hesitated at the edge, heart pounding. Inside, I saw it the last empty seat, right in the middle. My eyes lit up, but then reality hit: dozens of people were sprinting for that same seat.

The moment the crowd moved, I felt myself being pushed, jostled, and squeezed. My thin frame didn’t help; I had no muscle to resist the force of the throng. Arms and elbows brushed against me, people’s bags pressed into my side, and I struggled to even move forward without getting knocked down. The bus was already moving, making balance impossible. Every step felt like climbing a mountain, and I realized this wasn’t just about a seat it was survival.

I tried pushing forward, keeping my eyes on the prize. The last seat seemed so close, just within reach, yet every time I moved, someone else’s hand or shoulder blocked me. A tall man in front of me grabbed the seat first, and I felt my stomach drop. Panic and frustration bubbled up I couldn’t afford to stand, not for the long ride ahead, but my body was weak, and the crowd didn’t care.

For a few terrifying minutes, I clung to the rail, swaying with the bus, my breath shallow. People around me were yelling, shifting, laughing, and complaining. It was chaos. I kept scanning for another seat, another opportunity, but the bus was almost full.

Finally, when the bus neared the next stop, someone got up from a seat behind me. I didn’t hesitate. I rushed forward, barely keeping my balance as the bus lurched and swayed, and claimed the seat. Relief washed over me in a wave so strong I could almost cry. I sank into the chair, grateful to finally sit, my heart still racing, my body trembling from the struggle.

As I looked around, I realized something important: surviving that bus ride wasn’t just about getting a seat. It was about patience, strategy, and the realization that not every battle is about strength. Sometimes, it’s about waiting for the right moment, holding your ground, and taking your chance when it comes.

That morning, I was late for work, exhausted, and probably a little flustered but I had a story to tell. The bus, the crowd, and the last seat had taught me more about endurance than any gym or training could. And as I finally settled in, the city buzzing outside the window, I smiled to myself, thinking: surviving public transport is its own kind of victory.