The Old Man
Do I look like an old man to you? On Saturday, June 29, 2019, I rode the Marunouchi Subway Line from my neighbourhood to the Shinjuku Station hub, where I had to change trains. It was rainy and humid and the train was mildly crowded. Like everyone, I was burdened with a wet umbrella in addition to a bag I was carrying. No seats were available, but I had to move away from the door area, so I shuffled to the right, adjacent to the Priority Seats reserved for elderly and infirm passengers, put my bag on the floor and held onto one of the dangling hand straps. Every passenger commonly uses the Priority Seats if there are no others available. I do, too. But if a needy passenger boards then we quickly give them up.
On this occasion, there was an English-speaking foreign chick in her 20s sitting in front of me - I guessed an American - absorbed in her phone. Her feet were sticking out quite a bit and when I put my bag down it got her attention by touching her feet. I did not deliberately or with intent touch her feet, but maybe she interpreted it that way. Maybe she interpreted it as an attempt to get her attention. She immediately looked up at me and asked in English if I wanted to sit down there. I said nothing and just shook my head. I interpreted her question to indicate that she saw me as an old man - possibly an old man in need of a seat. But in my mind I was screaming "How old do I look! Do I look like a senior who needs a Priority Seat?! I have tattoos and body piercings. I listen to rock ‘n roll music, and I play drums! I’m not old." What's next - senior bus fare discounts? I suppose the lesson here is that in her eyes I do look “old,” or old enough to be in a physical condition that entitles me to a Priority Seat.
If I was a more selfish character I might look on this situation slyly, to sniff out greater personal advantage for myself like an Englishman would. That time might come, but it’s not here yet.