This morning on my commute to work, I sat on a two-seater stretch of subway bench so that I could rifle through the latest “New Yorker” (read: so that I could keep getting distracted by my phone). All was fine and good, until a man of particularly large stature (read: a dude who took up far more than the available 50% of subway seat) sat next to me.
Annoyed and feeling the left side of my crumpled-up body begin to dampen with his sweat, I decided to tough it out and remain seated. Getting up would mean confirming for this man that he could continue taking up whatever space he chose, and that others — read, the invisible female already occupying that space — would simply have to deal. This was about more than me, darnit!
So, I rode like that. For 35 minutes.
Never will this happen again though, friends. Not because I’ve determined to stop conflating small, everyday moments with a grand mission to bring injustice to its knees. That will definitely continue happening. What has changed is that I have now seen Dame Helen Mirren’s preferred means of arriving to the red carpet, and there’s no going back now.
...And now I'm questioning whether I should've already known that. What a plebeian I am! Ugh, embarrassing.
This totally beats a Tesla!
Someone please tell my boss I'll need a later start time, though, if I'm supposed to make it from Brooklyn to midtown Manhattan in one of these things. Totally doable, though.
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