Feed on

Sometimes you just want to go home, but you’re stuck being a man in public.

You get on the train after a long day. The doors are trying to close and a big fat woman jams them open with her bulk, unintentionally letting on another guy. A man in a military uniform takes his earbuds out and says to the obese door-blocker, “Don’t hold the door open.”

“What did you say?”

“Don’t hold the door open.”

“Did you just touch me? That’s sexual harassment!”

You can’t help staring at the scene, like a rubbernecker slowing down to check out the carnage surrounding a car accident, and unfortunately the nasty fat woman catches you gawking at her. You take a seat as far away from her monstrous apparition as possible and try to disappear into your Kindle, averting your eyes. Everything finally calms down.

The door-blocker, who’s already proven herself to have zero qualms about confronting normal-sized people, is looking at you. You can see her in your peripheral vision — she’s hard to miss – and you can feel her looking hungrily at you.

You’re at a distance, but your suit is faddishly undersized and you’re wearing Sex Walrus cologne so you know she noticed you. Keep reading, keep looking down. You briefly wish you were less attractive or a woman or that you were wearing a rainbow flag t-shirt so she would stop thinking you were interested in her. She keeps looking at you. There is nothing worse than an ugly fat woman with delusions of attractiveness and a penchant for false eye rape accusations making life uncomfortable for you, the average man in public.

The person on the inside of your seat needs to get off. You hold your breath as you let them out and you move in, thinking of all the things you’ll say and do when she tries to plop down next to you like a tranquilized elephant and talk to you when you just want to avoid that gross feeling of a ham-shaped arm pressing into your side.

You exhale when an older woman rushes to take the seat you’ve vacated. You’re safe and insulated by the window now.

Door-blocker exits at the next stop and the imaginary sexual tension leaves with her.

It’s only been a few minutes, but this is what goes through your head when you’re existing as a man in public and ugly fat women assume you want them, when all you were really thinking was “why is this fat bitch hyperventilating?”.

Originally published at the fittingly named Jezebel Groupthink blog.


Comments are closed.