Men and travel: the good, the bad, the ugly, and the manspread of it all

I'm finally in London (yahhh!) for my master's course in 18th century studies at King's College, a dream of place I've long wanted to be. Yet, I cannot help but wince a bit when I think of the awkward journey that got me here, one which both amuses and infuriates me if I dwell too hard on it.

First, when travelling alone, ladies do appreciate a man's help in lugging our bags, i.e. putting them overhead on the airplane. However, this unfortunately seems to be a dying art with men complaining of things like "back injuries" and "sore hamstring". These are the same men who think nothing of lifting what appears to be a five-pound sandwich into their mouths with their fat fingers and throwing back a pint of beer during a football match.

Second, these same men make travel painful because of both their girth and sense of entitlement, the latter of which is the infuriating part (I'm not skinny, so forgive them their extra poundage). I am talking about sitting in a pub on a couch-like seat that joins with the neighboring table, only to have some man think he can take his ham-sized thigh and push it within centimeters of mine as I try limply to sip my Chardonnay in peace.

Men also, when travelling or just being, will take extra long at the sugar-and-milk counters of coffee houses as they stir, oh so slowly as if awaiting Godot, their coffees. It is as if they aren't used to doing it themselves, and so are just figuring out how to do it.

Men also have no clue about their smells - whether they be the sort of man who splashes on too much godawful "cologne", farts or burps without apology, forgets a shower or deoderant, or is still wiping meatball sauce off his mustache as he squeezes in beside you on Icelandair.

But as I said, I'm happy to be in London. I am happy to observe my male counterparts from this side of the Atlantic, as they are generally taller (Vikings!) than those back in DC or Connecticut, and generally quicker (wit matters to this English major).

Yes, they are still man-spreading on the tube, still speaking too loudly on their phones, still oggling sixteen-year-old schoolgirls in plaid skirts and grimmacing at women in their 50s who ask for so much as a bit of help lifting her bag above the seat.

Even so, thank you to the man who laughed at me at Heathrow today when, upon exiting the Ladies' room, I accidentally not only walked into the Men's room but dropped my Buckingham Palace pencil, sending it skidding further into the lads' room.

"Sorry!" I said instinctively, already adopting British ways of over-apologising.

Photo: Wikimedia Commons Images