Do NOT Press Happy Fun Doug's Buttons.

Especially when he is tired and hungry.

Getting back into the swing of things at work has been difficult, and a 9.5 hour day Tuesday didn't help.) So I've been coming home tired and cranky. The first warm-spell isn't really helping matters with my walk to the light rail going from pleasant to sweat-producing (note to self: get bike into the shop for spring tune-up and puncture-resistant tubes.)

Today was no different. Got on the train home, found a seat on one of the benches, opened my book and started to read. This is a three seat bench, and there was an older woman at the other end of the bench. A stop or two later, a young Africa-American woman got on, looked around, apparently decided that sitting next to someone was unacceptable.

"You know, a gentleman would offer his seat to a lady."

Realizing she was talking to me, I looked up from my book.

"Do you have the right to vote?" I asked.

"Huh?" was the reply.

"The vote. Your franchise. Do you have the ability to secure credit under your own name? Can you, if you wish, apply to be a firefighter or police officer? Do you have a legal identity that is not attached to your husband or father? Are you judged on merit, rather than gender, at your place of work? In short, do you enjoy all the rights and privileges of a US citizen regardless of your gender?"

I waited for an answer.

"Well, yeah..."

I cut her off.

"Congratulations, the dream of Susan B. Anthony has come true! We're equals. Which means my ass stays in this seat and you can either take the empty seat next to me or stand. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn either way."

I went back to my book.

"But I'm black!"

Without looking up. "I'm Irish. Nobody beats us at racial or national hardships."

(What I almost said was "So, you need directions to the back of the car then?")

A stop or two later, she sat down.

Her first mistake was assuming I was a gentleman.