“Excuse me, sir: May I help you with your suitcase?” It’s one of those questions that you ask, but not necessarily because you feel like helping someone. You ask because it’s the right thing to do; because the bus is full and while you are sitting semi-comfortably in one of the front seats, he is nervously standing in front of you, trying to decide which of three things to do. One, he can hold his suitcase with both hands in order to avoid being robbed by one of those people that rides busses during rush hour with the purpose of taking advantage of people who, having just two hands, usually decide to hold onto their suitcase with just one hand so as to wrap the other one around the horizontal bar that runs along the ceiling of the bus. Two, he can hold onto the bar with his right hand and hold onto his suitcase with the left. His right arm is his strongest, so if he does this he won’t only be holding on to the bar, but also to his dignity. Because when one falls, the others look at the body on the improvised bed (namely the floor), think, and after presenting their help, submit their sinister laughs. Holding onto the bar with just the left hand is not even an option; that would be like not holding on at all. Three, he can hang the strap of his bag on his strong right thumb, fold the thumb inwards towards the palm of his hand, and thus hold onto the bar not only with his full left hand, but also with the remaining four fingers of his right. So there he is, unsuccessfully trying to achieve option three when you give him a fourth one. Four, he can accept your offer and thus use both of his hands to keep himself in a vertical position knowing that this is not at the expense of losing his bag or, without warning, his balance. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. You have no idea how worrisome it is to ride a bus under these conditions.” Of course you do, but you don’t tell him that. You keep silent because you know that he knows that you are taking his suitcase because you didn’t feel like hearing his silent cries, not because you care about him. As a matter of fact, although in the form of a question, when you ask someone if you “may help him with his suitcase,” it’s not really a question. It’s an affirmation; it’s a demand. Nobody can say “no” and that’s the best part of it. The game of offering and accepting is always fulfilled; there is no room for error. Unless...suddenly you feel nauseous: What have you done? You deprived this man’s body of the artistic movements that it would inevitably have to perform in response to the merciless will of the driver. All of a sudden you are disturbed, and you turn your head towards the window in an attempt to distract your thoughts from…your thoughts. Luckily, your stop is only a few minutes away. You try to concentrate on the landscape, but a reflection gets in the way. Your eyes see a sparkle, born from a man’s distorted figure, collapsing on the suitcase that lies precisely on your lap. You turn your head to return the suitcase to the owner, but there is no owner, no figure, no man and no trace. You realize that the owner is in the suitcase and you feel offended, insulted, exploited. This is obviously his revenge. What to do now? What to do? You stand up, scuffle your way to the back of the bus, and stand, with the suitcase, facing a woman who looks semi-comfortable. “May I help you with your suitcase?” As soon as she turns her head toward the window, you scuffle your way to the door and ring the bell.