To the woman who spoke with me on the bus this morning:
The bus was not crowded when I stepped aboard. It had reached that state where all the buffered seats are filled, though, and taking a seat meant sitting directly next to someone already on board. I took a seat next to a young woman, and the seat next to me was soon taken by you, a woman about my age -- no offense, but it takes a middle aged woman to address me as you did.
Soon the bus was full, and by the penultimate stop there were straphangers in the aisles -- including a couple of women, one of whom was standing in front of me. I kept my seat. I'll confess, I didn't really think about it, absorbed in my podcast and tuning out the morning world as best I could, so I was essentially speechless when you asked, once we had reached the station, why I didn't offer my seat to the standing woman. You asked very politely, clearly taking pains not to offend. I mumbled something about equality, and fled.
I searched my mind. Why hadn't I stood up? Was it just commuter lock? "I've got my butt in this seat, and come hell or high water..." Not consciously.
Maybe part of it was having grown up with the New York City subway, where equality has long since triumphed, and tough-as-nails women straphang with the men as a matter of course. Offer her my seat? Well, she'd likely turn it down flat. "What makes you think I need to sit. I'm no little lady, pal." (If she's in the mergers and acquisitions department, she might hold out for a better offer -- like my seat plus my lunch. She'd win, too.)
Perhaps I've internalized the progressivism of the current generation that states that gender is a social construct. If I wouldn't give my seat to an able-bodied male, why would I offer it to an able-bodied female? Isn't that sexist and patriarchal? And why would I make an assumption based on how they present? I have friends with penises who wear skirts, after all.
Perhaps it was just something to do with my state of mind this morning. I have stood up in the past -- though typically for someone elderly or disabled.
Maybe it's a little bit of all these reasons, and maybe none at all. Maybe I don't know what to think any more. I live in an in-between time. My parents raised me to be chivalrous and courteous, though it seems very old fashioned today. (Aside from at a nice dinner, or when I'm meeting someone new, I've mostly given up on the idea of standing when a lady arrives or departs.)
There is a certain type of feminist who might respond, "Serves you right! Women have been the uncomfortable ones for years, suffering through physical domination, curtailed social and professional opportunity, and the "weaker sex" bullshit for generations ad incipio. You're complaining that you feel a little awkward in an abjectly low-stakes situation? Ha! Deal with it." And she wouldn't be wrong.
In the end, ma'am (if I may be so bold as to address you thus), something in that concatenation of conditions resulted in my not standing this morning. The result was a man conflicted about what he should do, taking refuge in a pair of headphones and some sunglasses to duck a hard choice. I'm not proud of this. In fact, it has prompted some soul searching this morning. Who am I? What am I? Am I a stander, or am I a sitter? And am I willing to take the consequences of my choice?
Meanwhile, I thank you for starting this train of thought, and I'm sorry I didn't have a better answer for you this morning.