It is easy to jump to conclusions, especially about human nature, particularly when your verdict is negative, but now and then, all is not as it seems.
For example, in the case of Celia Imrie, who recently hosted the 80th-anniversary VJ Day commemoration at the Armed Forces Memorial in the English county of Staffordshire, near Birmingham in the UK.
Britain’s King Charles III and Queen Camilla were in attendance, and she described the day as “extraordinary.”
Unfortunately, the experience was dampened somewhat by Imrie’s journey home to London.
“Now, I never make a fuss, but I had to stand all the way back for two-and-a-half hours because nobody decided to give up their seat,” the 73-year-old told a recent interviewer.
“I couldn’t believe it,” she said, attributing it to being invisible to younger generations, who have no respect for their elders.
“So if you’re asking me, do people not really notice you as you get older, I’m afraid I do notice that,” Imrie said. “Even just walking on the street, you’re not envisioned. It’s really weird. I wear a bright coat.”
Never mind the coat, Imrie also has an extremely recognizable face, which has been gracing screens big and small for decades. So fame opens doors, but does not provide seating?
This is not a tale of young people lacking esteem for the more mature members of society, though. It is a matter of potential awkwardness. The etiquette of when to offer your seat on public transport is some of the most complicated we are forced to navigate — probably worldwide, but definitely in Britain, where most of us are easily mortified and could then be trapped together, at least until the next stop, to endure the aftermath. When you factor in that it must be done in full view of numerous spectators, no wonder so many commuters pretend not to notice who is standing near them. Make a mistaken offer and you have insulted a stranger, to their face, in front of a live audience.
You will carry the shame with you for ever, on some level, as anybody who has had their Good Samaritan moment ruined by the reply: “I’m not actually pregnant, thank you very much” can attest.
Let us agree that those who choose priority seats (the ones clearly marked for people with a greater need to sit down) and then fall asleep or become engrossed in their phone/book/thoughts are the absolute worst. If you sit there, you are entering into a moral contract. With great comfort comes great responsibility. You are duty-bound to monitor your surroundings and leap up if the need arises.
If a priority-seat holder makes a wrong call and offers their seat to someone who did not actually need it, it is only half as embarrassing as a standard-seat holder doing it; they will still be self-conscious and scarlet-cheeked, of course, but consoled by being inherently noble and on the right side of public transport history.
Recently, I saw a man give up his seat in an extremely misguided attempt at a meet-cute. He was clearly trying to be chivalrous because the woman in question was very attractive and obviously nowhere near seat-requiring age, but she was visibly horrified. She did accept, but probably only so she could have her hands free to Google “facelifts.”
As a dating strategy, this was imaginative and brave, but should be avoided at all costs — even by a real standup guy, in either or both senses.
Opinion varies on how many birthdays a fellow passenger must have celebrated to be deemed seat-worthy, but short of asking to see their ID, there is no way of being certain that they have reached that milestone and the possibility of offending is high. The train track to hell is laid with good intentions — you might genuinely mean: “Please do sit down, I care about your well-being,” but they will hear: “You are ancient, or overweight, or perhaps both.”
In a nutshell, you have to be pretty confident of the facts before you dare open your mouth. If Imrie is bothered by aging, she should take the lack of offers she received as a compliment, albeit an uncomfortable one.
Polly Hudson is a freelance writer.
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