personal space invaders

File this one under subway etiquette (and further proof to the theory that men just take up space).

When women sit on the subway, they are usually very orderly and confined to the invisible personal barriers that rise vertically at the shoulders, hips, or knees--whichever is widest. If you put several women side-by-side on the bench, they appear very contained: knees closed, hands folded in lap, head upright. When another party sees an opening between women on the bench, it is very easy to discern one's own personal space and sit down.

Now, men. Men have their own thing going on. What happens is this: I get on the subway and scan for a seat. I see a small patch of bench available between two men who have invalidated the seat because they are seated on either side of it with their legs spread open like a very wide "V." In order for me to sit in this seat, I must fold myself up like some sort of miraculous collapsible compact chair often seen in infomercials or old Jetsons reruns. These men, you see, don't close their legs to let another person sit down.

Last night this happened to me. I obeyed all common laws of subway seat selection:

1. I eyed the seat in question, assessing for spills, stains, and hygiene of neighboring riders.
   
2. I walked towards it, indicating my intent and desire to sit.
   
3. I paused for a moment to let the adjacent passengers adjust their position to make room for me.
   
4. I then sat back blindly into the seat.
   

The transition from Step 3 to 4 is where things fell apart. See, the "gentlemen" on either side of the open seat made NO effort to make room for me, which, when sitting back BLINDLY into the seat, meant I basically sat awkwardly on their laps, feet kicking in the air. And even in doing so, even in violating all laws of personal space and making more than incidental contact, neither of them budged. So instead, I nestled my way in, shoulders curled and hunched, knees knocked, ankles locked. I couldn't even sit back.

In any other city, I might argue on behalf of these men that I took over their personal space, forcing myself into a seat when there wasn't enough room. But this is New York, dammit. And a seat's a seat. Especially when I've got a good hour's ride ahead of me. But can I enjoy that ride? Or at least be moderately comfortable? No. I'm folded up with all the dignity and grace of a misbehaving, semi-collapsed baby stroller, wedged between and on two very unfriendly--and unyielding--assholes.

So fellas, let this be a lesson to ya. I don't care how tall or uncomfortable you are. CLOSE YOUR DAMN LEGS! And if you don't like it, too bad. Stand the hell up. Or for that matter, just walk. Get off my damn subway.