A few days ago, I got on the bus exhausted from a hard day of classes. Luckily, I stumbled upon the last remaining seat and collapsed into it. I looked up and noticed a girl walking down the aisle, scanning for an open place to sit.
She gave me a long look and headed directly my way.
I began thinking that my hair must be working for me or that she was strangely aroused by guys with L.L. Bean backpacks. Stopping directly in front of me, the girl looked down and spoke.
"Can I have your seat?"
I haven't had many life-altering experiences, but I assure you this was one of them. As a freshman or sophomore, I would have jumped out of my seat before the girl could have even finished her sentence.
Today, however, I felt something different. I had just turned 21 that weekend, and I now possessed a newfound sense of confidence and worldly wisdom. This situation, I told myself, was not to be taken lightly. I sat back in my seat and considered the options.
It occurred to me that because she was a girl, standing up was the polite and gentlemanly thing to do. However, I couldn't help but think that this was exactly what women have been fighting against for years. It was as if she was saying that she was too feeble to stand for even five minutes. I, on the other hand, possessed the strength to stand for hours, even days. I would actually be doing her a favor by denying her request. She would learn that she was capable of doing things beyond her wildest imagination.
By keeping my seat, I was remaining comfortable while at the same time transforming her into a pioneer, perhaps even a revolutionary.
Everybody wins.
Next, I examined my potential benefits. This girl was by no means gorgeous, but she possessed the certain appealing charm of being alive and in close proximity to me. Perhaps she would be flattered by my willingness to make her comfortable.
Once she saw I would do anything for her, she was bound to respect me. I thought back to all of those girls that must have fallen madly in love with me when I held the door for them on the way to Alpine. If I played my cards right, I would be assured a relationship somewhere along the lines of indentured servitude with benefits. However, if I've learned anything from rap music and living with my roommate for two years, it's that women, or "womans," are full of evil trickery. Sure, she'd smile and thank me now.
But I was wise to her little ruse. I knew what I had to do.
I took a deep breath and looked up at the girl. She was impatiently tapping her fingernails against the handlebar and chewing her gum loudly. This had gone beyond a simple bus seat, I thought. I was about to do something monumentally important, not just for me, but for men and women everywhere. I looked her in the eye and calmly, yet sternly, gave her my answer.
"No."
Ten of the longest seconds of my life passed and nothing happened. Neither of us spoke or even moved. I've never been more proud of myself and so utterly afraid for my life at the same time. She was staring intensely at me, and I came to a pair of conclusions: She was either incredibly turned on by my assertiveness or she was trying to explode my internal organs with her mind.
Covered in sweat but determined to remain composed, I pretended to be rooting through my backpack for some index cards but was in actuality looking for something sharp to poke her with in case things turned violent.
Someone pulled the cord and I got off the bus even though it was nowhere close to my stop. I avoided looking at the girl even though I knew she was still staring at me.
As I headed back to my apartment, I couldn't help but walk a little taller. If only everyone could be like me, I thought, the world would be a much better place. She doesn't understand it now, but I helped the girl see the light on that ride.
The next time we meet together on the bus, I wouldn't be surprised if she gives me her seat and stands contentedly.
She'll smile pleasantly at me, and I'll smile back as I calmly root through my backpack, just to be on the safe side.
Steve Brown is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Wednesday.
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