Booty call

This morning, I was loudly accused of repeatedly touching a woman's rear end--unfairly accused, I might add. But it wasn't so much the accusation that struck me as wrong and unnecessary as it was the woman's choice of wording.

The 7 Train was particularly crowded, as it usually is on a rainy day, so everyone was fairly packed in. In such situations, I swing my bag around in front of me to make sure that I'm not knocking into anyone I can't see with it. It's polite--and I can ensure that no one is standing too close to my face, which can be awkward on commutes of any length. And it was a good move on this particular rainy morning, because my frontside had been in danger of being pressed up against the backside of an extremely heavy woman who somehow, despite the crowding, had managed to find room to dance to whatever song was playing on her iPod. While from the waist up, neither of us were in danger of colliding, her rear end extended perpendicularly from her hips and well out beyond her back. The only thing between our respective lower parts was my leather bag--which offered the both of us a crucial barrier from intimacy--or so I thought.

While this woman was dancing, her body was rubbing against my poor bag and moving it uncomfortably across the front of my pants and stomach. I didn't say anything because I figured that we were only two stations away and the ordeal would be over soon enough. Finally, after the first stop, she turned to me and said loudly, "Don't be touching my booty!" She then turned to her a girlfriend, wedged in between her and the train door, "He's touching my booty." Her friend sucked her teeth, stared hard at me, and rolled her eyes deliberately. Next, they both resumed dancing. A few moments later, the heavy woman turned to me again and complained, "I said, 'Stop touching my booty!' That's my booty!" At this point everyone within ear shot was staring at me.

Technically, I was not touching her rear end, she was pushing it against my bag, but I pardoned myself, nevertheless, and tried to stare off into space—a space made pregnant by the unseemly accusation. But what else could be done? It hardly seemed worth the argument. Could I have relieved the tension by turning to the people around us and explaining that I wasn’t actually touching her rear end? “See, my bag is between us, so we're not actually touching.”

But no one else really seemed to care, probably because they all had had their own uninvited guest touching some part of their bodies that they didn't want to be touched. But we were, after all jammed in a crowded train, so there wasn't anything to be done.

But "booty"? Why had the woman chosen that word? Her accusation, however inaccurate, had made it clear that she thought I was acting inappropriately, yet the very word that she chose--"booty"--sexualized a situation that was really far from sexy, rather it was what one would expect would happen when that many people are crammed into such a small space. Booty? I mean, really! Though I suppose, I could just as easily have said, "Madam, quit rubbing your booty against my package." But then, that would have been just as inappropriate as dancing with your friend in a crowded subway car on a rainy Monday morning.

Comments

[winkles]

Package was an excellent choice!