The guy who jammed the napkin into his Sam Adams bottle Friday and left the whole shebang on the seat.

You were 45 and skinny. You wore a black ass-length coat and a red hat with Callaway on it, a company which presumably makes some sort of golf gear.

You were drinking a Sam Adams on the 5:27 to Mt. Kisco on Friday. You have good taste–if not in hats, at least in beers.

As you prepared to leave at White Plains, you stuck a napkin in the opening of your empty Sam Adams bottle; one might say you put the ‘cocktail’ in ‘Molotov Cocktail’. Then you left the empty bottle on the seat as you exited the train.

Hmmm.

You were aware enough of not leaving a mess behind that you jammed the napkin in the bottle so as to not spill your backwash on the seat. It was almost a dainty gesture. Thank you for that.

But if you’re to take such pains to not leave a mess, Mr. Callaway, why not take the damn bottle with you? What you were saying is, essentially, I’ll let someone else clean up after me. Some poor hourly who perhaps couldn’t even afford a Callaway hat, much less a nine iron or Big Bertha or whatever specialized stick they produce.

Some young man got on in White Plains, Mr. Callaway, and took your former seat. He had to move your Sam Adams, empty except for the napkin jutting from the mouth like a pocket square from a fine amber suit, to the seat next to him.

Because of you.

This isn’t a private golf club, Callaway. Pick up your shit.

Warm regards,

Trainjotting