When? (can anyone tell me is this a short story or prose didn't know whether to put it under poem or story?)

Waiting for the Luas in Tallaght, minding my own business when this little bugger stops and spits on my shoe, laughs and runs off. No reason, no explanation, no apology, nothing. I’m more disgusted with myself because I hang my head in shame and say what I feel I am, nothing. What have I got to be ashamed about, but I am. I’m ashamed of my apathy, my fear. I meet the eyes of the fella on my left and he says “Bastard, no respect”. I nod and say “thanks”. What am I thanking him for, for his observing that the bugger showed no respect or is he making comment on me, because he’d be right, I have no respect for myself. I’m the invisible middle-aged woman who got noticed because someone spit on my shoe.

Why can’t they notice that if they smile, I smile back, that I can hold a conversation and even on occasions be witty. I never was much of a looker but think I’ve an ok personality. When did that fade into the background? When did I disappear?

Ah here comes the tram, pre-paid ticket so no chat to the driver. I daren’t talk to another passenger, be intruding on their space. Well that’s what I think. So is the problem with me, am I giving of some vibe, or is society sinking daily into everyone for themselves mode. Don’t need or want to interact with anyone unless there’s something in it for me.

I still haven’t wiped the spittle from my shoe. It reminds me that there has to be a change, a change, in me. That I’m worth more. I smile to myself, the teenager in the row across avoids my gaze and squashes himself into the window if he could crawl through it he would. He obviously thinks I’ve lost it, this makes me giggle. Is it any wonder I travel alone? I amuse myself all the way home, sometimes the best company is your own, but only sometimes, worth remembering that.