And So It Begins

Today, I feel I have been formally welcomed to Sheffield.
There I was, trying to find various pieces of paper that had somehow got lost in my tardis-esque bag, when….

A man in his forties siddles up next to me, and attempts to peer at my face.
I ignore him, as I still can’t find the bit of paper I need.

Man: “Hello?”
Me: ….
Man: “Excuse me, mumble mumble mumble?”
Me: “Um… I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
Man: “But mumble mumble mumble sing mumble”
Me: “I honestly have no idea”
Man: “mumble mumble mumble single??”
Me: “Are you asking me if I’m single?”
Man: “Yes!”
Me: “No.”
Man: “mumble mumble mumble I’m single
Me: “I’m not. Sorry.”
Man: “Oh. What’s your name?”
Me: “Rachel. I have to go now.”
Man: “I’m Ali”
Me: “Good. I have to go now. Excuse me.”

He didn’t try to follow me, which is good.
I seem to have lost my touch in putting men off, which is bad.

On the other hand, I’m getting to be very good at commandeering space in lecture theatres. It’s a bit like public transport.
I mean, if I sit next to another woman, nine times out of ten she’ll be carefully taking up exactly the space that’s meant for her and not an inch more, so that’s not a problem, and the tenth will have a bag or something in the way, which she’ll move.
If I sit next to a man, around about half of them will be sitting in their own space. And the other half will be spreading their legs.
The easiest way to combat this problem is simply to act as though you can’t see their legs, and spread your own. And then not apologise when your leg bumps theirs.
This being Britain, somebody has to apologise, so if you don’t, they will. And then they move their leg, because they’ve admitted fault. Genius!

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