This morning, I turned around as I was tapped on the shoulder. An older woman behind me told me I should close the zipper on the small pocket on my backpack. She could see my wallet.

I thanked her. As I sat down and waited for my appointment, I remembered something similar from my last trip up to NYC.

I’d had the flu. I hadn’t been that ill in a long time. I was running on no sleep from the night before and my resting heart rate was up to 130. Both of these circumstances made exerting myself a chore. I left Hope Lodge much earlier than I would have normally, knowing my progress would be slow going.

In Penn Station, I stopped to dig out my metro card. I usually have this in my pocket in preparation for travel, but that morning I’d forgotten.

A man and a young girl turned the corner, heading in my direction. I was focused on using my hand to feel around my bag. My face was leaking so I had my head tilted back slightly and my mouth was open as breathing through my nose was a challenge.

I felt someone staring at me and glanced up to my left. The man was giving me a hard, threatening look.

I was taken aback. In took my several seconds after he passed to understand I must have been absentmindedly staring at his daughter and in my current state I appeared menacing to children.

So to recap: I was a mess and passersby wanted to protect their babies from me.

Moving on.

I got on the subway, barely squeezing my bags and my butt on the train. There had to be over a hundred people in one car. I stood there, only wishing for sleep. It took me a moment to realize I was staring into someone’s purse. I could see a fat wallet packed with credit cards. It was facing up and would have been easy to pluck out unnoticed. I was surprised to see a bag that didn’t look like it would close in NYC.

I tapped on the woman’s shoulder and she glanced back. My throat was hoarse so I whispered, “You should put your bag in front of you…” Her eyes widened. Before I could finish my statement, she whipped her bag in front of her and sputtered, “I am SO sorry!”

“I can see your wallet.”

She blinked. It seemed to register that despite my ominous whisper I was trying to be helpful. “Oh. Thank you!” She turned back around and I chuckled. Which may have made me look slightly mad to the man who witnessed this interaction.

A stop or two later her bag was in front of me again, zippered tight. Huh, I guess it did close after all.

Given the option, I would rather helped her in a cheery and non-alarming way. Though perhaps the terrifying memory of me may be enough to remind her to shut her bag in the future.