Jennie Smash

The other day, I gave up my seat on the subway. This doesn’t happen very often, because I am hideously lazy, and also a girl, and therefore, unless I spot a pregnant woman, a handicapped person or Methusela, I feel that I should get to keep my seat. This may be sexist. I don’t know. However, it helps me justify my sloth, so there you are.

Anyway, on this particular day, an elderly woman and her grandson got on the F-train. Something about the way they were talking to each other made it obvious that they were on some sort of special outing. The boy was wearing new shoes, I think, or holding her hand particularly tightly. He was definitely looking around at the other passengers as if observing zoo animals, so he didn’t ride the train every day, safe to say.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Would you like my seat?”

She said yes, and smiled, and tucked her grandson into the seat, and kept standing.

He stared at me a moment, and then crooked his finger at his gramma. She bent forward to hear him.

“Gramma, why did she give me her seat?”

At this point, the man next to the little boy got up and gave his seat to the grandmother. She thanked him, and leaned over to her grandson, “Because some people are very nice,” she said.