Peculiar Monster

Bland White Dudes

written on Monday, July 21, 2025

Boarding the Acela in Boston to head back to Wilmington. Except for Amtrak staff, the train is empty. All seats are assigned, and the quiet car has no unassigned seats as I tried to change my seat prior to my trip and could not.

When I arrive at my seat, there’s the blandest of white dudes in the seat next to mine, bag blithely tossed on my seat. He has to move his bag and get up to allow me to squish in. He is “working”—I can tell because he’s checking his calendar and Slack and a hideous spreadsheet that looks like a fucking Christmas tree in terms of colors.

I decode to get my knitting out of my purse once I get settled. This means he has to pick up his laptop so the table can be folded upwards. About half an hour later, I have to use the bathroom. Alas, this means he has to not only pick up his laptop and but also himself to let me out. I am extremely polite and apologetic about inconveniencing him. Because that’s what I’ve been trained to do, as a fat woman-shaped person.

I return to my seat and find he’s moved to an empty row. As long as no one needs the seat, I don’t particularly care that much. But the fact that moved because he was having to deal with another person threw a bit of grit into my day.

Like I needed to not only apologize for inconveniencing him, but that I should also apologize for my very existence as a person in the world who has wants and needs, just like he does.

I hate this feeling and I suspect bland white dudes never feel that way, because, of course, the world was built for them to move about in. Not for people of color, not for disabled people, not for women, not for trans people, not for queer people, not for neurodivergent people, and certainly not for children.

Later, I needed to throw away something. And had to move out of the way for another bland white dude who was barreling down the aisle to take a phone call. He didn’t even excuse himself, just expected I’d move out of his way, that of course he had the right of way. I should have let him run into me (he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going).

Ten minutes later, we arrive in Stamford, CT, and the empty row is no longer empty—a South Asian man in a business suit takes the window seat. And the bland white man is back next to me, still “working.” This time, he tries to impinge upon my space: trying to take over the armrest, pressing his leg against mine in an attempt to make me move my leg even further inward. I refused to give up my space.

I wonder what it must be like to be able to move around in a bubble like that, where everything is designed to meet your needs and everyone is obliged to accede to your wishes.

It’s neverending. And it sure must be nice to live in a world like that.

Heard on the PA, during the trip:

“Remember to get a grip while moving around the cabin.”