(The Philadelphia Daily News posted the following article by Nancy Peter on its website on October 6.)
PHILADELPHIA — My theory was correct: Passengers use creative, sometimes extreme strategies to obtain or protect their space on the commuter train.
For a class I was taking on qualitative research, I spent four weeks observing passengers on SEPTA’s R-8 (Chestnut Hill West) rush-hour trains. I was interested in how commuters choose their seats. I suspected that their choices were based on wanting the maximum amount of personal space. I was also interested in the techniques that people used to attain this degree of privacy.
I rode the train to and from work an average of four times a week, recording the seat-selection processes during each ride. I also conducted two formal interviews with regular commuters who ride the train every day. Informally, I ended up interviewing others as well because when I told people about my project, all were eager to share their own experiences.
All Aboard. People strategically place themselves on the platform and appear to board the train with a distinct purpose.
The two people I interviewed each said that they select where to stand so they have the best chance of claiming preferred seats. One interviewee said that, although she generally doesn’t encourage “male chivalry,” she never protests when a man waves her onto the train ahead of him.
Seat Dispersion. Seats on the train become occupied in a predictable pattern. First the window seats in the empty “triples” get taken. Then the window seats in the empty “doubles” are claimed. Passengers then sit in the aisle seats of the occupied-by-one-triples. Then the doubles get their second occupants, and finally the triples acquire their triplets.
Why this sequence? People choose their seats in this way because they intuitively calculate the odds of retaining maximum space for the length of the ride. In other words, a vacant triple is more likely to remain “private” than a vacant double.
Space Preservation. Many people aggressively retain their personal space once they procure it. Some techniques include placing bundles on vacant seats, sitting on the aisle and blocking access to the empty window seat and slouching into an empty seat.
One interviewee said that “some people pretend to be asleep so they don’t have to move over.” From what I observed via the negative reactions (frowns, glares, head-shakes), all these behaviors represent “breaking the code” of courteous train-riding behavior.
I noticed that people tended to overprotect their space, in the ways described above, more often in the afternoon than in the morning. I suspect that people are more tired and less generous at the end of their work day.
Friendly Distance. Friends and acquaintances often chat on the platform but frequently sit apart on the train (even if it meant sitting with a stranger). I even saw a married couple board the train together but choose separate seats. I concluded that chatting on the platform is one thing, but riding the train is often serious, solitary business.
Other Strategies. My interviewees added these comments:
1. Finding and retaining space are their only criteria for selecting seats.
2. They try not to sit beside a person with a Walkman or iPod, since the music may get too loud.
3. They try not to sit next to a person with a cell phone for the same reason.
4. They don’t choose a seat companion based on age, gender or race but do prefer someone well-groomed and not too large.
5. On the way home, one woman looks for people with Zone 1 Trailpasses (vs. Zone 2) since they will be vacating their seats several stops before she will.
Conclusion. Although no one talks about it, most people select their train seat with a single purpose: getting and protecting space (without seeming like a jerk). This may not apply to infrequent riders, who could enjoy chatting with acquaintances or even strangers. But it certainly seems like the code for regulars.
For what it’s worth, I’d never choose to sit next to myself on the train. I’m often eating a bagel, drinking coffee, taking notes in a large loose-leaf binder, fidgeting with my Palm, talking on my cell, applying my makeup and otherwise in danger of spilling into my companion’s space.
(Nancy Peter commutes daily to the University of Pennsylvania, where she is director of the Out-of-School Time Resource Center.)