He was balding, his salt-and-pepper hair combed forward to hide the fact. He was wearing a black leather motorbike jacket and a pair of aviator sunglasses – as though on his way to an audition for Top Gun: the sequel. And, he was standing way too close to me as our train chugged away from the city.

Every couple of minutes, his leather-clad arm would knock into me as I stood quietly, reading my book and minding my own business. And with each moment of contact I felt my rage grow – like the strip of mercury in a thermometer on a really hot day. My eyes were still reading, but my brain was planning an assault – I wanted to kick him in the nuts or squeeze my hands around his thick neck.

Just so you know, I’m not usually prone to homicidal daydreams… but my quiet after-school train reading time is really important to me. And this guy was totally violating my personal space! Plus I have a sixth sense about people, and my senses were telling me this lame leather-jacket guy was a total jerk.