Putting Your Foot, And A Crutch, In Your Mouth

Just before the lockdown, my car is off the road following an accident. Luckily, it isn’t for long, but it does mean taking the bus a few times to get around.

I get on near the start of the route, and by the time it is nearing the city centre it is nearly full.

A woman in her late forties is sitting next to me and wakes me out of my daydream.

Woman: “Aren’t you going to give up your seat?”

Me: “What?”

Woman: “This young woman has to stand up. Aren’t you going to give up your seat?”

Me: “No, are you?”

Young Woman: “I’m fine, really.”

Woman: “No, you should give up your seat; that’s what a proper man would do.”

Me: “She seems fine.”

Young Woman: “I am. I’m getting off at the next stop, anyway.”

The woman complains and mutters for some time, but still won’t give up her own seat. I can feel the stares on me, but I still feel like I am in the right.

The bus stops at the city centre and the young woman gets off. I stand up with my crutch and try to hobble past her.

Me: “If it is not too much trouble, could you get out of your seat?”

Her face was priceless; it wasn’t as if the crutch wasn’t clearly on show the whole time. She had her point to make of today’s youth and nothing, not even facts, was going to stand in her way.