GRACELESS BEHAVIOR: APOLOGIZING FOR MALE PATTERN RUDENESS

What better example of graceless behavior than an old man stealing a seat from women?

Yes, it’s a small thing, but still a symptom of a greater ill.

Graceless behavior is not about equal rights.

If you’ve ever visited a place like Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, then you know the scene: roaring fire, comfy seats, and a game of musical chairs.

Minus the music.

People sit in seats near the fire while others ski; chilled skiers come in for a warm-up and hot chocolate. Once folks warm up, they move on, and someone else takes their seat.

It works well until someone decides to cut the line.

I was sitting in a loveseat away from the warmth, but watching like a hawk. Someone moved from one of the three seat couches near the fire and I zoomed in.

Too late.

A couple of ladies stood from a closer couch and aimed for the same area I was targeting. They knew the deal.

“You play a strong game of musical chairs,” I said.

“Oh, you can have the hot seat if you’re cold,” one of them said in a southern drawl.

I liked her right away.

She was visiting from Florida; the other lady was a friend from Portland who used to bring her family to Timberline when they were young.

Timberline Lodge People

The after-breakfast crowd on a Wednesday morning were young parents with their babies, older couples, (hey-o), and one lone wolf with graceless behavior.

I watched this man circulate the room. Tall and strong and carrying a stack of New Yorker magazines, he looked like a mountain climber on his day off.

When a young mom stood with her baby, he slid into her seat, whipped open his magazine, and ignored those around him. It was a tricky move I’d never make, but he had a certain style.

My faint admiration changed when he swooped in on the seats the two women stood in front of while we talked. One of the ladies was crocheting a pair of socks, the other looking at her phone, all very sweet and pleasant.

Without a word, or a question like, “are you sitting here?” he plopped down, opened a magazine, and ignored everything around him.

What irked me was his magazine. A guy reading New Yorker ought to have some sense, or better sense.

The ladies watched his act

“Those aren’t the usual mountain manners, or Oregon manners,” I said to the woman from Florida who undoubtedly knew the difference.

“Bless his heart,” she said, which is southern lady code for f-you.

We smiled at each other while the old seat-sneak concentrated on his magazines. Was this a moment to intervene on their behalf; did this call for a knight in shining armor?

Yes!

But before I could roll out my nice and nasty version of corrective counseling to The New Yorker reading dipshit, a woman on the opposite couch stood and offered her seat to the two women.

It was the sweetest gesture, and lost on the old guy hunting for meaning in his magazine stack.

A quick note on grown men who carry several copies of the same magazine in public: they are trolling for anyone to ask, “My goodness, do read The New Yorker?” One magazine at a time is more than enough, and besides, this was Timberline, not some train station time waster.

Everyone sat quietly. After enough time to consider adding my opinion to the old man’s day, I left to scout the paintings and sculpture in the lodge.

“I don’t think I’ll see anything as beautiful as your knitting,” I said to one of the women.

“Why thank-you,” she said. “It’s my therapy.”

“She does beautiful work,” the other lady said. “It’s magical.”

“Just like your paintings,” her friend said.

“Imagine painting something as wonderful as your textile work,” I said.

“We need to make plans in my studio,” the Florida lady said.

I’ll be looking for their collaboration instead of an argument on decent manners with a stranger. This wasn’t a twitter moment.