On the way to Arizona, I now famously had a man pat me on the butt, then apologize, telling me he thought I was a girl.
I publicly outed and rebuked the man, and everyone who read that piece seemed to agree that I did the right thing. In fact, that post went around the world, and I received — and continue to receive — many messages and emails from folks expressing their appreciation.
Hopefully, people agree with my decision in this next encounter as well:
After arriving at Bradlet International Airport at the end of our trip, my friend and I were waiting in line for an airport shuttle along with half a dozen other people. It was clear that the shuttle in front of us was almost full, and we would need to wait for the next one, which was approaching from down the street.
Then a woman cut to the front of the line and boarded the shuttle, walking past everyone, including me.
I was turned, talking to a colleague who happened to be standing behind me, so I saw the woman walk past me, but I hadn’t realized she was cutting the line. I thought she was just checking to see how many seats were left.
But no, when I turned, I saw her boarding the bus ahead of everyone else.
Hey,” the woman in front of me said. “She just cut the whole line.”
“Did you see that?” another person said. “She just plowed right past us and onto the shuttle.”
This wasn’t a mistake on her part. A line of people was clearly standing at the shuttle’s door. Someone had been handing their suitcase to the driver as she cut between them and took one of the two remaining empty seats.
Maybe her daughter was in labor, minutes away from delivery, and she wanted to be present for the birth of her grandchild.
Perhaps she was rushing to an oddly-timed 1:30 AM dance recital for her niece.
It’s possible that her suitcase contained a donor heart, bound for a needy patient at Hartford Hospital.
I don’t know why she cut the line, and maybe she had a good reason to board that shuttle ahead of everyone else, but she didn’t share that reason with anyone. She was moving fast, head down, looking like she knew what she was doing wrong and hoping to avoid eye contact.
So I leapt into the fray.
I stepped out of line, leaned into the now-full shittle, and shouted, “Monster on the bus! That lady thinks she’s more important than the rest of us! Monster on the bus!”
Then the doors closed, and the shuttle left.
This confrontation wasn’t nearly as important as the one that took place in the Dallas airport when I scolded that man for thinking he could touch a woman’s body whenever he wanted, but I still felt it was necessary.
Elysha can’t stand a line cutter, and neither can I.
Line-cutting violates a social norm.
It’s a signal of disrespect and disregard for everyone waiting their turn.
It’s the kind of thing rotten people get away with all the time because they know most people will let it happen without saying a word.
These are monsters who depend on others to choose civility over confrontation.
I choose confrontation.
I chose to say something in hopes of embarrassing her, so perhaps she will think twice before ever doing it again.
Elysha wasn’t entirely opposed to what I did, but she wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about my decision as she was about my encounter at the Dallas airport.
I asked my friend. who was standing beside me at the time, how he felt about my reaction.
“I definitely felt myself step away from you,” he said, which was not a rousing endorsement either.
Yes, cutting a line doesn’t come close in terms of a violation to patting a woman on the butt, but the principle remains the same:
We expect people to treat us with consideration and respect. We establish norms and rules so that fairness and decency dictate our actions and expectations.
When someone ignores or violates those norms, something should be said.
If it can be said theatrically, surprisingly, or amusingly, even better.
I was no different than motorists blaring their horns when a rogue driver cuts in front of a line of cars waiting to exit the highway. In cases like this, no one wonders whether the driver cutting in line has a good reason to plow ahead of everyone. We don’t wonder if the line-cutter is rushing to the hospital or late for their first job interview in three years.
We beep to express our outrage. We blast our horn to tell the person how we feel. We even shout at them from the confines of our automobiles.
Instead of blasting a horn, I said a few words.
I expressed my displeasure.
I hoped to make an impression.
Definitely not as important as the actions I took at Gate 32 in Terminal C at the Dallas airport three days earlier, but still okay?
