A Package

I had an awful day at work. Woke up tired. Schedule mishaps all day and a chess tournament in my classroom when my students and I were supposed to be in it. The usual.
After work, I got on the bus, barely able to stand up. All the seats were taken and people were standing in the aisle. One man was sitting next to a seat on which rested a package covered in a plastic bag. I pointed at the package and in my Tarzan Turkish, asked if I could have that seat. He sighed a heavy sigh, looked at me as if I had asked for his left kidney, then slowly and deliberately folded his paper, put it in his pocket and got up. I said, no, no not a problem. He bitterly insisted and guarded over his package from behind the seat. I was too tired to argue, and not capable of telling him to put the thing on his lap.
More people got on than off the bus. One after another, they asked me if they could have that seat. I said, in Turkish, "It's not mine." But whose is it? I pointed to the guy, who explained something. After four people in a row asked me, the whole front of the bus got involved. But whose is it? I pointed, lots of I don't understands followed from both sides, followed by a series of "t-t-t-t" and why don't you sit down and put the package on your lap? I didn't understand his replies. Finally the man, who I noticed smelled like stale fryer grease, picked up and stood with his package in a huff. Three stops later, he got off the bus. All eyes followed him, there was much giggling as the conversation continued almost until my stop. One woman jokingly gestured that she was going to give her water bottle its own seat when one became available. Laughter all around.

I wish I understood what they were saying.