As has been noted here and elsewhere, Metro-North ridership is up noticeably as the price of gas escalates. Getting your very own two-seater without a seatmate is increasingly rare–I’m even seeing the dreaded middle seat (also known as “sittin’ bitch” and “gracing the P-Pad“) in the three-seater getting more ass than Lost Boys-era Corey Haim.

Well, I got my very own two-seater this morning, as the window seat was splashed with what looked all the world like vomit. It wasn’t a huge amount, and it didn’t smell…at least the smell wasn’t noticeable amidst the smell of a few hundred commuters in close proximity amidst 90 degree temps.

But it was just enough to keep seatmates away. Of course, I had to explain to four seat-suitors this morning that there was “something spilled” on the seat, which got a bit tiresome after a while. And to show them that I wasn’t trying to hog the two-seater all to myself, I even offered to sacrifice the Business section of my NY Times for them to sit on. None took me up on it.

Hurl on the 8:16? I can see it on a 1:53 a.m. train full of bellies lamenting the uneasy partnership of tequila and greasy pizza, but not on the freakin’ morning commute.