To give up your seat or not to give up your seat?

To give up your seat or not to give up your seat? That is the question. It is 8am on a rainy Tuesday morning, you have dragged yourself out of bed and somehow made it on to the loud green slug that is the dart.

You take your seat, prime position by the condensation filled window and you plug in your earphones for the 55 minute journey to college.

Three stops in and disaster strikes, among the crowd huddled by the doors is an older woman. Your immediate thought is, oh I better give up my seat.

This instinct has been ingrained into you since you started getting the dart to school at age twelve and were terrified of someone reporting you to your principal. But then you have second thoughts, you study this woman's face - a few lines here and there, no stoop in her back, but she is shifting from foot to foot, she looks like she wants a seat.

But what if she is only in her early fifties? She could be utterly offended, she could get a complex and go and spend a fortune on botox instead of saving for her retirement.

Then again she could be ninety-eight and about to collapse. Either one would weigh on your conscience forever. You look again, trying to see what type of bag she has, a briefcase would suggest she is still of working age, a wheelie bag may indicate that she is much older.

It is too early in the morning for these decisions, this woman's health but also her psychological well-being are resting on your shoulders. You stare out the foggy window, searching the waves below for divine inspiration.

But as you look back an exchange is taking place, a man has stood up offering his seat to the generation-you-haven't-a-clue woman.

Oh, rejection, she denies his offer.

How awkward, you smirk to yourself as he shuffles back to his seat. You are overcome with relief that you didn't make that mistake.

Satisfied, you retreat back into your seat. But it isn't long before an even worse event occurs. As the train chugs into Booterstown, you spot the tragedy before it unfolds. Boarding the packed train is a lady with a small to average sized, barely noticeable bump.

Your mind begins to race and you palms are clammy with apprehension for the decision you are about to have to make...