In China, the people who usually cut me in line are wiry little old ladies. They’ll squeeze by me on the bus, shimmy right to the front of the hot breakfast stand and march right up to the grocery cashier when I”m clearly waiting in line. These ladies are tough, they don’t particularly care about the newfangled institution of lines, and they’ll take top priority treatment. They’ve lived this long, they deserve it.
The elderly in China tend to live with their extended families, instead of in nursing homes or senior citizen communities. They’re helping with childcare, running errands and going to the park to do tai-chi and play chess in the morning sunlight. I found their mobility quite impressive. A lot of elderly people ride the bus in China, and as soon as they get on, they are always offered a seat. It’s a fairly straightforward process.
Anyone who has white hair is old, and anyone who is old gets my seat on the bus.
In New York, I have a lot of trouble deciding when it’s appropriate to give up my seat. For starters, many more women dye their hair around here, and there’s a much bigger variance in when hair goes gray. So that idea is out. Many people in their 60′s have a lot of pride in their youth and health and don’t want to be seen as old. Not yet, anyway. The act of giving up a seat depends on a million different factors: if someone’s carrying a lot of stuff, if I’m sitting in a squishy middle seat, if I’m not sure if someone’s pregnant or just fat, if I avoid eye contact and hope someone else does it because I’m especially tired or if I’m getting off at the next stop anyway.
If only there could be a rule about it…
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