To the young woman sitting next to me on the 48 bus this morning:

I am so sorry I threw up on you. I really, really, really didn't mean to. I felt a little off in the morning, but nothing too bad, certainly nothing worth staying home from work. Got on the bus, and before long I was feeling distinctly not too great. But I figured I could just hang in there and I'd feel better when I was off a moving vehicle. Then I started considering it might be worth getting off the bus to try to puke to feel better. Then I started thinking I was going to have to do that. Then it became definite that it would have to be the next stop. Then omigodnoithastobeRIGHTNOW.

It just happened so fast. I desperately tried to think of what I could throw up into, because getting off the bus in time had ceased to be an option. I grabbed my empty commuter mug and prayed it would hold sufficient volume. For the most part, a successful save—but then there was a splash. Mostly on me, but, sadly, also on the left sleeve of your black jacket.

You were so polite about it. I tried to apologize and find something to wipe you off with. There was nothing, and I didn't know what to do. It seemed like the nicest thing I could do at that point was just to get the hell away from you so at least you wouldn't have to be afraid that I would do it again. I am so sorry you had to deal with a complete stranger throwing up on you first thing on Monday morning after spring break. I will carry plastic bags and some paper towels in my commuter bag with me from now on. recommended