peanuts from strangers

Last night, while sitting on the 21 bus, heading up Lake Street, a complete stranger offered me some of his peanuts. I don't know why. I suppose he thought I would narc him out for eating on the bus. I said, 'no thank you' quite politely, but thought to myself, 'no way! I'm not taking peanuts from a complete stranger.'

Is there something wrong with a world where people would never even consider taking peanuts from a stranger? The question seemed profound and worth pondering at the time. Public transit has that tendency. To make a philosopher out of me. I want to be a person who would strongly consider accepting peanuts from anyone. As long as he's not grubbing his fingers around in the package too much.

By the time I shared this story with Jon, it had lost that quality of epiphany. His response was 'girl- you did the right thing'. My defense shriveled into more of a vague idea than the grand oratory staged in my head on the bus. The bus does that to me, too. Fills me with rhetoric. I could not even bring myself to say that I wished I had taken the peanuts. Jon told me to remember Zeke, the vagrant who incidentally became my friend during my senior year of college. Fine. But I still think there's something wrong with a world where people are applauded for not taking peanuts from strangers.


(dramatization)