High Heels Down Hill

So I get into the bus. A fresh, funny-looking morning welcomes my not-so-funny-looking messed up hair while the coffee stain on the driver's shirt reminds me of how lucky I am to have bought those tampons on the way back home. My mom hates tampons. They make her feel guilty for not being able to keep her daughter's tush out of trouble long enough (by trouble I actually mean sex). Anyways, I pay and grab a seat, and then notice the woman sitting on the left side of the bus looking at me like I sat on her face. She is clearly disapproving of my apparently way too loose pants which happen to expose my sexiest piece of lingerie, my boxers that is, and of my very comfortable way of sitting. I pull up my pants a little so her eyes won't burn, but somehow it is now too late to save my soul from the never tiring flames of hell.

The minute Mrs. I-wear-my-pants-right stops dipping my head in hot chilly sauce in her thoughts another graceful woman gets on the bus. As classy as it can get, around her late 40s perhaps, with her 5-inch Toledos, her clearly expensive purse and jewelry, flawless make-up, impeccable outfit, and a don't-you-dare-mess-with-my-hair-bitch kind of face, she lightened the room with her presence. I, on my end, threw up in my mouth a little. By the time she gets in, pays and starts looking for a space, all of the seats are occupied, which for some social or moral reason requires somebody to stand up and give his/her spot away. Now, something I never quite understood about this behavior was the reference point against which the RIGHT person is selected. Does it depend on the age of the person? Is it more a matter of gender? Does it have anything to do with how many bags the person in need is carrying? Whatever the criteria, it always seems that middle-age women carrying a big purse, the pregnant ones, and the elderly are the way to go. The elderly and the pregnant, I get it. It is common sense. However, this woman stood up in front of me and padded by back twice suggesting in a rather explicit manner that I was the chosen one. 'Alright', I thought, 'here, I can either succumb, shut up and do as expected, or I can for once act according to what I believe to be logical and just and be super heroin I’ve always known I am…lol

“Excuse me!” she said
“Yes, ma'am. Can I help you?”
“Well, you can get up and let me sit there”…(oooh she’s gon’ bring it)
“Well excuse me, but I can't think of any reason why I should. I am as tired as you are, you know!?” …It was 6:30 in the morning, and I was on my way to work with no coffee on me yet. That's a huge no-no in my book. Well, that, push-up brassieres, and my mom's speeches on the beauty of the catholic faith.
“I am an old woman, kiddo, and I don't care if your mama didn't teach you anything about respecting old ladies, but I want the seat” (She is clearly as stubborn as I am)
“So let me see if I got it... You are so old you deserve the privilege, over me, of sitting down, but somehow you are never too old to quit those Toledos you’ve got on and that dress that won't even let you stand up straight, am I right? Perhaps if you didn't putting yourself through such ridiculous vanity inconveniences, we wouldn't be having this conversation” (oh yeah baby I can smart-talk too)

As expected, all eyes were on me and for about the ten freaking longest seconds of my life my thoughts flew back to Sunday school with Miss... I just can't remember her name; I must have blocked it... Anyways, I remember to have been taught to treat others the same way I would like to be treated so I thought “cut the crap, Leslie, be nice for once,” but then, I knew myself well enough to admit that the nicest thing I would ever do for that lady would be giving her my extremely comfortable, non-life-threatening, flat shoes for her to wear during the ride, but they would definitely not match her outfit so I decided not to make the offer in good hopes not to offend her…more, that is.  

The pressure was hitting me like never before. The bus driver looked back towards me and gave me the stink eye while the man sitting right behind me simulated a sore throat which kind of sounded more like an insult, but let's not expand upon that. Despite the confrontation and the tension that's been building up, I stay firm. I am 5 blocks away from my stop, and there is no way in hell I'll give her that seat. So many unexpected ideas managed to just distort everything I considered simple, everyday experiences. I was witnessing the ultimate throwdown: vanity versus comfort, and it was all up to me to call the winner. Immediately, the man with the sore throat suggested she could have his seat since “some people just don't give a crap about others.” He was an old man, of around 60 years of age. His gray hair and body posture suggested he was in no condition to stand up for the ride, but of course, it is all a matter of chivalry, and no lady should ever be denied any kind of assistance. Again, I don't understand how this works. That being said, the entire population on that bus judged me not only for refusing the give her my seat, but also for causing a tired old man to stand up and be a gentleman.

As I was trying to figure out my next diabolic move, the bus stopped in such an abrupt manner all of my things fell on the floor, as well as other people's belongings. The bus driver had missed a red light, and of course that was my fault for disturbing the social harmony and disrespecting one of the many beautiful ladies whose main and only job is to embellish the city with good manners, good looks, and many more magical tools which apparently personal and moral integrity cannot always provide. As if that was not enough, the woman I was arguing with couldn’t hold on firmly to the bar since her huge purse was actually heavier than her, and her legs failed to stop her from falling down. I’m thinking MAYBE her hot-stuff shoes didn't give her any stability whatsoever, but I repeat, this was entirely my fault so feel free to fire away.

“Let me help you up,” I said. I didn't think she would accept my assistance, but I tried anyways, and indeed, she didn't.
“Get away from me, you inconsiderate little brat! Don't you dare touch me after all you've put me through. Shame on you! I sure hope you treat your mother with just a little more respect.” She was furious. Her eyes transformed into insatiable spears ready to pull my guts out.
“For your information, I do! She is my mother!” (That didn't sound good at all), “and I sure also hope you treat yourself with some more respect than you've shown me! And cut the crap, would you ma'am?” I helped her up against her will. “Here, have my seat,” I said.
“Only God knows what's going through your little mind, creature...” interrupted the old man.

The whole “creature” thing alienated me a bit. My heart stopped. It ached as if the person you love most in the whole world pulled it out of chest with unstoppable fury. Am I really that horrible? I was just trying to do the right thing. I was trying to educate by setting the example, and as nonsense as it may sound, a young woman like myself can, indeed, educate. I was right. I am right. Right? I jump off the bus thinking I am not going to sleep shit that night, thinking something life-altering had just happened. As the bus starts moving forward, she sticks her head out the window (oh NOWyou don’t give a fuck about your hair, huh? Huh?) My thoughts are so loud and mind-numbing I could barely hear the elegant yet ironic “watch out!” coming out of her mouth. She threw at me a piece of onion bagel she was carrying on her purse. It must have been there for days for it definitely served its purpose. The shock did not allow me to react. I started walking wherever I was going and got lost among the hundreds of strangers around me. My day went on as usual, except for the smell of onion all over my shirt, a constant reminder of what should have been an ordinary bus ride...