Your bag has been on this bus longer than I have, and it’s exhausted.
Your bag sprained its ankle. Ok, well, bags can’t really sprain ankles, but it got coffee spilt on it, which is possibly worse although it makes a less convincing excuse.
Your bag is taking up less space sitting than it would be standing. I mean, this is fair, except it would probably take up even less space if it sat on your lap. Or, like, if you didn’t have a bag. What are pockets for?
Your bag assumes I’m getting off at the next stop, which is a fair assumption because I’d rather just walk than watch a bag take up a seat that could be mine. Also, it’s 72 degrees in February.
Your bag is pregnant. You should see how fast the tissues are growing at the bottom of it.
Your bag is over the age of 60. Well, in bag years, which means you’ve had it for 8 months. So obviously it’s out of style, which I was kind enough to not point out.
Your bag fought in the war, ok, so I need to stop complaining! And by war, of course, I mean it viciously came between you and another woman at the Louis Vuitton sale last year.
Your bag is actually kind of a celebrity. Do we give up seats on the bus for celebrities? Trick question — celebrities don’t take the bus. Although I once thought I saw Jake Gyllenhaal on the subway, but it was actually just another insanely good-looking man.
Your bag is sorry because it didn’t notice the mother staring intensely at it while she tried to keep her 3-year-old daughter from falling over. Your bag definitely would have offered up its seat to the small child if it had known, but it doesn’t have eyes, because it’s a bag.
Your bag just doesn’t really care about the rest of society. No one has ever shown any respect to your bag, so why should it give back?
Your bag doesn’t obey any social construct, because it’s a bag. But you’re not a bag, so fuck you.