So, the other day, at 7:35 am, I was getting off the bus to go to work. It was Monday morning, and if I measured my interest level in going to work on a scale of 1 to 10, it would land somewhere at 1.2.
I got off the bus at the back door, and felt the door slip behind me as I made an attempt to hold it. In case you’re not aware of the back doors of CTA buses, they have hyperactive hinges that snap shut, and will catch and decapitate you. If anyone has trouble applying strength to push a heavy door, they should make their way to the front of the bus, where the often surly bus driver will fling it open for you without any expenditure of energy.
I was making my brisk walk down the street toward my office building, when a man walking on my right began to mutter something in my direction. He was an older guy – I’d give him about 55 – a non-descript black man with teeth that have earned him the nickname of Gator.
I’m not really social in the morning (or with strangers on the street), and try to avoid any pre-8:00 am chatter (or any chatter at all that involves a stranger on the street).
I wrinkled my face in clear annoyance and said “What?”
Gator repeated himself, “You should hold the door open for a guy the way he would hold it for you?”
More annoyed, I said, “I’m sorry? What are you talking about?”
I quickly determined that he must have been behind me on the bus, and was upset because he felt that I had dropped the door on him. But instead of explaining that like a normal, communicative human being, Gator decided, instead, to repeat his ridiculous assertion: “A guy would hold the door for you.”
At this point, I rolled my eyes and kept walking, face forward.
I didn’t know what else there was to discuss. He took it personally that I let the door slam behind me. I can recall SEVERAL times where I thought that the person in front of me could have taken more time to hold the door for me. But you know what? Shit happens. Especially in morning when people have a lot on their minds. Those door-droppers weren’t trying to be malicious to me – they were just in their own worlds. And, given the amount of time I’m in my own head, I certainly can’t fault anyone for being in their own world – that’s for sure. The fact that he was making this a male-female issue was uber-annoying.
But did it stop there? Did he just let me continue to work and drop the conversation? Oh no. Gator had to repeat himself — AGAIN. I don’t know what he expected. At that point, he wasn’t getting an apology. Speaking to me in an accusatory manner never gets a good result.
So, I turned to him and said: “You know what? I don’t think I’ve ever even SEEN you, much less deliberately slammed a door on you. I suggest you get over it and move on to another problem in your day. And if this is your biggest problem, congratulations!”
I didn’t add what I wanted to say: “Yeah, I’m sure you’ve been the perfect gentleman your entire life, and have never wronged a woman. Maybe some woman did you wrong and left your splayed-tooth-having ass. I’m certain that’s where this hostility about an irrelevant bus door comes from. Well, leave me out of it. In fact, now that you’ve pissed me off, the next time I will deliberately slam the door on you, at which time you should just open it for yourself and shut the fuck up. Punk.”
Impressed at myself for avoiding an irrational rant (although it would have felt SO gratifying), I glanced over at him while he attempted a rebuttal that began with “I was just saying that . . . “, and gave him a cursory, dismissive “Whatever” and crossed the street.
Don’t give me any credit. I’m really not that mature. Of course I’ve looked for him the last few days on the bus, hoping that I would get the opportunity to exit in front of him and actively push the doors closed behind me.
Yes, I know. This is how people get shot in the street.
