An Open Letter to the Woman on My TrainWho Doesn't Read Drink Labels

Dear lady on my train,

When you sat down next to me today on the train, I must admit that was already one strike against you -- I like my privacy, nose in my book, outside world tuned out. So sitting next to me was strike one.

But really, I can't hold that against you. After all, the seat was open -- and if you want to sit there and talk loudly to other passengers, I can't really be upset with you. Not justifiably so.

So.

Here's what gets me -- you were sharing with a fellow passenger the joys of the nice, cold beverage you were consuming, even offering him a sip from the lip of the selfsame bottle. So generous, you!

You extolled the temperature, the taste, and the carbonation of this lovely lemonande beverage (and "lemonade" is what you called it). But here's a tip: "Mike's Hard Lemonade" is no sippin' lemonade; it's an alcoholic beverage, and not [technically] legally allowed for public consumption.

When your friend asked what was in it, and you said, "oh it's just lemonade -- but it's carbonated" he, wisely suspicious, did not take the proferred sip.

Perhaps you didn't see the label's message about alcohol content? Perhaps you missed the big warning on the bottle about pregnant women abstaining from drinking it? Perhaps buying it in a six-pack wasn't a clear enough sign?

Is it evil to have been secretly hoping for a cop to come drag you off to the stir? Well, if wishing you were in jail is wrong, I don't want to be right.