CTA Gender Politics

If I see an older woman standing on the bus, I feel I need to offer her my seat, but if I see an older man standing, he has to be really old for me to get up. Mostly I wouldn't mind, but it's really more for his benefit. Like it might be a little embarrassing for him to be seen as weak.

When I get offered seats, I don't usually know what to do. It's a gentlemanly thang, which should be encouraged maybe, but it's not really necessary. If the guy says nothing, I take the seat. If he says, "Here you go," I say, "Oh, its okay" for some reason and keep standing even though I really do want to sit down. If I'm with classmates or a friend and a seat opens and I am gestured towards it, I do take it.

Last week on an extremely packed train, I was annoyed to be standing. It was a very tiring day in class, and my feet hurt. I looked over and made brief eye contact with a guy I recognized from another section of the intensive. I can't be sure, but I think there was a glint of guilt in his eye. Every time I kind of peeked over, I could tell he was debating standing up or not. But he also looked very tired, and I'm sure he really didn't want to. If I had been him, I probably would have just stood. It's never worth it to be a wee bit more comfortable in the face of guilt. But, he didn't, and I endured the miserable, uneasy ride home.

Part of me is like, good for that guy because I really have no business thinking I deserve a seat. We both have feet. But the other part of me is like, WAAAAAH PAMPER ME, STRANGER DUDES! And the biggest part of me feels bad that guys have to constantly ask themselves these stupid questions about politeness (getting up, door holding, "after you"ing, etc. etc.).

UGH. I really don't get why we couldn't have all been created one asexual gender. There would be so many fewer problems in the world. That's a fact.

Scooby Dooby Doo

After like five years of more attempts than I can count, I wore my seahorse boxers in public without judgement. Last night I went to a pajama party at two comedy boys' house. Pretty much everyone I knew from sketch/improv/standup was already drunk at like 4 PM or earlier. Welcome to my school.

Anyway, Chelle kept trying to get me drunk, being all devious and giggly as she would ask me to hold her shot and then just get another one. Bwah bwah. Sid was equally coercive. Some random dude with a mohawk kept finding me all night, no matter where I stowed away, to give me very poorly constructed speeches as to why blacking out is necessary. (Obvi, one of us was just a speech and debate coach, and one of us wasn't...) During one of these speeches, he mentioned to someone passing by, "Oh yeah, and Scooby Snacks are on the way."

"Oh!" I said. Immediately I was back in second grade, sitting at my childhood friend Hilg's kitchen table, her mom bringing us Eggos with ice cream on them. "I want a Scooby Snack!" Chelle looked incredulous, "You won't take a shot with the girls, but you'll have a Scooby Snack with this guy?!"

Uh oh. Abort. Abort. "Oh...I'm just kidding." I said. Had I actually believed someone brought a waffle iron to the shindig? Mohawk dude winked and said, "I'll make sure you get one." I tried to backpedal. I disappeared to the back porch. Somehow, he kept finding me and offering me a cup of this slime green substance. No, no, no, I'd say, but it was like he got hit in the head and lost all his memory after the moment I showed mistaken joy in eating a delicious ice cream novelty.

No moral to the story. I'm just twelve.

Sincerely

Dude, two nights ago I stopped for gas after rehearsal, and I decided to look at things inside the snack-station. (Okay, I am just now realizing that in my head the building on the gas station premises I have always called a "snack station"--it only just occurs to me writing this now that my secret in-my-head-definition might not be one anyone else uses. Moving on...Except also I should explain I go inside snack stations very often because I like to look at candy and the fridges of colorful drinks even if I don't want to buy any. NOW, moving on.) A thirtysomething guy in nasty brown sweat pants that were kind of like capris came in to pay for his gas. He looked at me and licked his lips.

I headed to my car. Then, a minute later I hear this guy yelling through the rain, "Lemme--lemme--lemme--" I didn't look up because I was still hoping there was some kind of misunderstanding. After all, I was sporting pigtails, a bright yellow headband, and the Catcher in the Rye t-shirt my aunt gave me. Come on, man. But he finally yelled, "CAN I PUMP YOUR GAS FOR YOU?" A little late. I was just getting back in my car.

I'm pretty sure this dude wanted me to feel embarrassed and flustered. I mean, he sure didn't really think he was going to get my number right? In his sketched-out outfit? I mean, did he really intend to take me in my daffodil boat shoes out to dinner sometime? So, instead of getting crazy awkward or scared, I just tossed my hand at him, "Oh, get out of town," I said with a modest grin. And, HE mirrored it back the smile like, "Awwwww, shucks. Okay. I am being ridiculous." And he kind of waved me a good night.

Basically, when you're honest and just open up to people, you'll be pleasantly surprised by the sincerity you find. Everyone knows whats going on more than we everyone else credit for.