Bag Ladies and Bus Rage
It was in danger of turning into the bus journey from hell, several
passengers glaring at each other, others quietly seething. Yet it had
all started out so smoothly: a routine trip from the city centre to the
suburbs; shoppers of all ages clutching their packages; a rare British
sunny day, all was well with the world. Until, that is, an encounter
between two of my fellow passengers.
The pleasant weather had brought
out more Derbeians than usual at that time of day and the bus was
almost full. Anxious to sit down as quickly as possible, one woman
spotted an empty seat beside a window, just in front of me.
When I
say empty, it was occupied by a huge paper bag; the kind you get from
designer boutiques, the kind with a tiny and light and very expensive purchase inside. It would certainly have been no burden for the
person who had plopped it there to place it on her lap. Or at least you
wouldn’t have thought so. As it happened, that person was a young lady,
although there was nothing remotely ladylike about her reaction when the
other passenger politely asked her to remove the bag so she might sit
down.
She stared at the woman as if she’d just suggested she cut off
her own arm, while, all around her, astonished passengers (some still
waiting to sit down further along the bus) looked on.
Surely she
wouldn’t refuse? Well, no, she didn’t; but only after an exaggerated
roll of the eyes and an audible sigh did she theatrically stand up, lift
the bag, move to the seat beside her and sit down with the bag on her
lap.
By this time those waiting were getting more than a little
impatient. They were also getting hot because the bus’s heating was
switched on full blast, carbon footprint be damned, apparently.
As
one male passenger was finally able to pass, he directed an extremely
rude remark at the girl with the apparently immovable bag. Another
female passenger, with whom he had now drawn level, assumed he was
addressing her and turned to insult him back. Fortunately, for the
remainder of the journey the pair limited themselves to exchanging angry
glares.
As it turned out, the young lady with the bag hadn’t yet
finished exercising her right to be stroppy. As we approached her stop,
she stood, barked: “Getting off here!” at her neighbour and shoved her
aside, accidentally whacking three or four people with her designer
carrier on her way to the front.
Of course, selfishness is a sad
trait in people of every generation and by no means only the preserve of
teenagers. I’ve seen as many older people push in, or grumble about
standing, as I have younger ones refuse to stand up.
I have to admit
that I don’t automatically stand up for everyone. I like to think I’m
pretty egalitarian and use a simple rule of thumb: if someone, whatever
their age or their reason, is less able or more inconvenienced to stand
than I am, then they are welcome to my seat. Otherwise I stay put. I
don’t expect men to stand up for me, nor children for that matter. But
I’m not insulted if they offer; and believe me I’ve been on the
receiving end of that one.
Nor, should I come to be a hale and hearty
pensioner, shall I complain when a teenager doesn’t jump to their feet
for me. I have a feeling, though, that one young lady might.
Because,
while most people are always polite, friendly and considerate of others
– and we wouldn’t notice incidents like this if they weren’t – some
people don’t give it a second thought. And that’s a shame because it’s
those people we remember and by whom we judge everyone else of their
generation.