Courtesy Be Damned

I take the bus to work most days. Or the Bart. Or the MUNI caterpillar thing. In general, I am a fan and supporter of public transportation, mostly for watching how people act in voluntary proximity to strangers, sometimes because it's fun to dramatically run after things. But lately I've been having a crisis of etiquette, as I sit on the bus looking about 36% uncomfortable in a suit at rush hour, and attempt to offer up my seat.

If I try to give a man a place to sit, it doesn't matter if he's carrying groceries, towing 3 children, and on crutches - chivalry rears it's head at a completely inappropriate moment and he absolutely refuses to take it.

Look. I love it when you drive. I love it when you won't let me pay for dinner. I love when you open the door and pull out my chair and walk on the outside of the sidewalk to protect me from all sorts of no-longer-existant-threats like bandits and rogue carriages and chamber pots and attentively and lovingly pull me out of oncoming traffic when I wander into the street because of my overzealous lack of direction. That's great.

But if you're 80 years old, just stumbled out of the emergency room and are using one arm to stuff yourself with a philly cheese steak, for the love of god please sit down and stop touching me with your weird leg and dropping onions on me.

But then, THEN, if I try to give up my seat to a woman it's a whole different ballgame because she thinks I'm making some subtle insidious comment about how old she is or how old she looks and then there is just hell to pay.

So fine, you're all standing.