Manners don't cost a thing
Entitlement and sensitivity
The way some people react if you accidentally sit in their seat on the train is something akin to road rage. Every time it happens I can’t help but feel disappointed for the lost hope that we might get through the trials and tribulations of public transport together, and I also can’t help but take it personally. What happened to just asking nicely? From the Gold Premium card holders to the passengers who forked out an extra €10.20 for the privilege of a designated seat, it's a high pressure zone out there, and all because we apparently cannot be trusted to organise ourselves enough on our own without the paywalls. Road rage is at least slightly more understandable given the fact that you and everyone else in the traffic are manoeuvring fast speed killing machines in close proximity to one and other. But applying similar levels of aggression to a misunderstanding in the seating plan seems a little unreasonable to me.
I suppose you could argue that because someone paid for something with their hard earned cash, they are entitled to receive it. That's generally the way things are presented to us under capitalism and obviously you wouldn't order yourself a coffee and not kick up a fuss if it didn't arrive. I'm not debating the validity of expecting to get a seat if you've paid for it in advance (well, not really). I am merely wondering if the extreme levels of passive aggression and death stares are a justifiable reaction to finding someone else occupying said seat? Are we really all that hungry for a bit of drama?
When you're early on into a 1500km journey across the continent and things start to go awry, in my opinion it's generally much easier to deal with by adopting the 'we're all in this together' high school musical mentality, as opposed to spitting up our frustration onto each other. The thing is, even if 90% of the travellers seem to be in agreement with this, it only takes one soar faced reservation holder to piss all over it.
Or am I being too sensitive? They may be behaving indignantly entitled to the thrown number 43, carriage 8, but what about me? Why do I feel so entitled to their good manners? Am I so fragile that I need everyone to treat me with patience and friendliness 24-7, or else I'll sit down and immediately write a short essay about my feelings? (yes) Is that the real reason I pour so much of myself into polite small talk and am so accustomed to slapping on my best appeasing smile at the slightest whiff of tension? (probably) Even when I'm squashed between suitcases with a 4 hour delay and a strangers sleeping toddler on my lap, whose nappy just has leaked on my leg? (That did actually happen once by the way, but the kid was so adorable and we were coincidentally in matching red on red outfits that I genuinely didn't mind at all)
My Nan used to say to us all the time that manners don't cost a thing, but is that actually true? Maybe the Gold Premium annual membership has an eye wateringly high price tag, but committing to being an amicable co-passenger comes at it's own costs, let me tell you. You pay for it in energy, for all the effort required, it's called emotional labour and anyone who takes on this honourable tasks is automatically very important. Yes, very important. Even if they haven't been asked to do so, the best approach would be to deplore them with your unrivalled gratitude so they feel appreciated and affirmed in their choices and we can all get along nicely. My therapist recently told me that if I think I'm putting in more than 50% of the effort required to take care of a relationship, then it's costing me too much. I see her point, as long as you ignore the fact that most of the time my overly enthusiastic relationship management has more to do with me validating my own importance whilst attempting to micromanage the reactions of everyone involved. The problem with this quota of equality in emotional labour, is that my fellow ticket holders and I have made no clear commitments to each other, so even if the stats are poor, I can’t break up with them because they probably wouldn’t even notice.
And yet, to some degree I do feel entitled to the idea that they should notice me. And not only because I’m sitting in their seat and also not only because I’m sensitive and I want everyone to like me. I just think it’s important that we take note of each other, that’s all. And about the seat thing, I fear I may have accidentally touched upon a subject that could divide the nation, and lets face it, the last thing we need right now is more division. So let’s just agree that this is no longer about seat etiquette on buses and trains, ok? It’s really about the way we treat each other, what sort of behaviour we deem acceptable and actually it’s about how easily our actions effect each others states and moods and that it’s all just one big domino effect and none of us are untouchable after all.
Maybe I need to grow a bit of tougher outer layer, a protective edge so to speak. I don’t mean thick walls of wrought iron that keep everyone out, just thick enough that I am slightly less easy to offend, for the benefit of everyone. Or maybe I just need to make a seat reservation? Perhaps it’s because I’m a slim bodied, white, women that I’ve learnt to expect you to treat me with respect and niceness, in a culture that awards privilege to people based on a currency of very obscure body politics and power play. Perhaps it’s because one of the most deeply engrained mechanisms of survival in my female programmed nervous system is to be so very very nice to you that you not only won’t hurt me, but you may even give me everything I’ve ever wanted and save me from this life. Which I’m kind of depending on you for, since I couldn’t possibly manage any of that on my own. But instead of admitting to this charming prospect, I keep sweetly seducing you in the hopes that everything will fall into place. Yes, I think things might be a little simpler if I took myself seriously enough to put a few boundaries in place and manage my own expectations.
Maybe then I wouldn’t feel victimised by the bitchy response of a stranger who thinks I’m sitting in their seat and we could all save a bit of energy. Even now, as I tend to my wounds and how the lack of comradery in the train carriage has revealed my delicate ego, I start to feel guilty for expecting too much. What if they’re just having a bad day? Or a string of bad days? A very long string by the looks of things, but still, who am I to step in with my demands of, at the very least, some performative friendliness? How very British of me.
And then again, I heard on a podcast once how a study showed that engaging in small talk with strangers throughout the day, about the weather or whatever, actually can help to regulate your nervous system because it reinforces the idea that the world around you is relatively safe. As in, it literally helps to reduce the stress levels circulating in your bloodstream. Which has the potential to mean that you’ll be a bit less bitchy, especially if we work from the premise that most people consciously do not want to be bitchy, it just happens as a result of all the suppressed disappointment, guilt, grief, rage and unrealised desire we live with. I think this might be the practice called compassion, which definitely needs to come with the advice line ‘only use in conjunction with humility’ less you become a condescending ‘I’m better than you because I’ve elevated my consciousness through meditation’ sort of a passenger.
So yes, perhaps the thicker skin and less of a fragile ego might be a good starting point for me, but I’m not ready to give up on the idea that as costly as it is, treating each other with kindness and generosity is worth every drop. In fact, we simply cannot afford it to be any other way.