Monday, 3 October 2011

Mirror, Mirror

If you follow me on twitter, it will not have escaped your notice that I am now back at university.

It’s been alright so far.

I like my flatmates, which makes a nice change. In the second and third years of my degree, I absolutely HATED the people that I lived with. I might revisit those years with you another time, but they aren't important at the moment.

My room is almost finished, décor-wise. I’ve got some Britney posters up, my shoe rack is fully stocked and I bought a giant mirror today.

Looking at it, now that the aforementioned mirror is displayed in my room, it isn’t actually as massive as it felt when I was lugging it around town for two hours this afternoon.

When I went to get it, I was anticipating a much smaller box than the one I was given. I’ve never had a brilliant sense of perspective (or a good grasp of measurements), and this just proves it. When the description said “50cm x 50cm” I thought it sounded like a fairly modest size. Perfect for slinging under my arm and getting on with the rest of my shopping.

NOT SO, DEAR READER.

What “50cm x 50cm” actually means is “not big enough for home delivery, but certainly too awkward and heavy for a bus journey.”

That being said, it's the perfect size for my room. I just hadn't thought things all the way through.

Being a modern woman – capable and independent and all that stuff – I carried on regardless. I continued shopping because it would take far more than a mirror to keep me away from a shoe sale, I can tell you.

Even though I was coping, let me just explain to you what the world saw AT THIS POINT – a small blonde woman, overladen with bags, carrying a large mirror that was clearly too wide for her teeny tiny arms to cope with.

Do you know what the world did with that information? NOTHING. NOT A SODDING THING.

Anyway, when I finally decided it was time to give up and go home, the automatic doors at the bus station were broken, and so I was required to open them manually. Obviously unable to do this, I enlisted the help of a twenty-something hipster who had just finished his mentholated cigarette. When I asked him if he could please hold the door open, he actually and literally SIGHED at me. HE SIGHED. AS IF I HAD RUINED HIS RIDICULOUS DAY.

If my arms hadn’t been so tired, I might have strangled him.

I continued to be annoyed when NOBODY offered me a seat on the bus, despite the mirror situation, and I had to wait until some IDIOT third years got off the bus BEFORE I COULD EVEN TWEET ABOUT IT.

Maybe we don’t expect men to help us with our bags or hold doors open any more. BUT SURELY if they are asked POLITELY to do so, they should be able to do it without sighing at the inconvenience.   
And if you're getting off the bus in less than two stops anyway, SURELY you should be allowing the poor sap with heavy bags AND A GIANT MIRROR to have your seat.

That's not even chivalry, is it? It's common courtesy.

x