The Transitional Protocol.

While working downtown I have been studiously observing protocol in three necessary places of transition: the bus, the elevator, the escalator.

Now, I don't have it all pinned down, but at this point I have done a lot of thinking and I think it would benefit us all for me to externalize those thoughts here.

Bus.
The bus is a dangerous place. Not because of the homeless man, or the smoke-ridden, but moreso because of the women who fall in the gray zone between, not young but not old. And definitely not wanting to be considered old. I've many times now witnessed a young man try to offer his seat to one of these such women. The no thank you spit back could tear the hair from those men's chests. I fear for them. And it is no less terrible for us young girls. The rules of who to offer your seat to on a crowded buss puzzle me. And I would just default to 'offer it, always, to all but punks.' Except, that more often than not it is more insulting than benefitting to fellow bus riders. This morning, I gently layed my gloved hand on the hand of the man standing next to my seat. He was not old, but he had a cane. And the bus was pretty packed. I didn't want him getting pushed around by the uncaring young guy next to him. I offered him my seat. He was polite in denying. But I wondered, did that insult him or bless him? That was the second person I'd offered my seat to. The first was a woman, and when she didn't respond. I pretended I hadn't said anything and opened my book back up (to a random page).

Yes, danger. Caution to the caring.

Elevator.
The elevator has been my favorite transition vehicle. Well- truthfully, I hate elevators. I used to be terrified of them-- I'd sooner have walked 38 floors than taken a cage of death to the heavens. But, now that I've overcome that fear...I relish in the awkward interactions forced on groups of strangers in an elevator. One day, while riding up, I realized I was the only one not facing the door. Apparently, there is unspoken protocol for an elevator: don't face in. You are allowed to make small talk, but you must only swivel from the hips, feet remaining planted towards the sliding doors. I love to stand with my back against the side wall, and face my elevator companion. Sometimes, I even have highly entertaining morning banter with a confidence fellow rider. Another unspoken rule I've found: you must keep the elevator balanced. The doors open and everyone floods in. But as passengers exit, remaining riders will redistribute themselves so as to balance the box. If two are left standing on the right, one will move to the left side. Elemtary physics my dear Watson, elementary.

Escalator.
This is all less concrete to me. Everyone is so concerned with stepping on and stepping off without looking like a fool that they don't seem to follow a bsaic gridwork. I mean, beyond the obvious, stand on the right, walk on the left. But even that is far too often ignored. I've been analyzing observed steps. How many steps ought one to leave between them and the person in front? Does it change if they are a single occupant rider, or have an escalator buddy to their left? I think it is two. One step in between you and them just feels uncomfortable, like you are checking their scalp for lice, peering ominously over their shoulder like a nosy elder sibling.


I have so much still to learn, but these three places of transitional awkwardness bring joy to my life every day. It's a commuter paradise. ;)