Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Can't Fight What Isn't There

"Dumbass white motherfucker," the man behind and to my left on the train says, loud and directed enough for me to know he's talking to me.

I'm not an idiot (his opinion on the matter notwithstanding), so I continue to resolutely not engage, shifting my stance and my grip on the pole just enough so that I've got him in my field of vision without actually looking at him or up from my book.

I consider my options: I know I haven't done anything in particular (we haven't had any other interaction up to this point, and his choice of words leads me to believe he may have gone on similar rants in the past), but I know that if I speak to him, or get defensive in any way, I will have already lost.

When the door opens up at the next stop I move unhurriedly down the train, to stand in front of another door, and magically, that seems to work.

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