Sartre on the
Subway
by Clarise
Samuels
The stranger
bumped into her on the subway as he was making
his way down the crowded aisle where it was
standing room only. He did not say excuse me.
She glared at
him. He ignored her.
“You know,
it would be nice if you at least said excuse me.”
He looked
around as if he were hearing voices. “You
talkin’ to me?”
“Yes, but
this isn’t Hollywood, and Robert De Niro
you’re not.”
“Ah, yes,
very true,” the stranger admitted now
looking at her with one eye cocked.
“What’s the point of being polite? We
live in a barbaric world, and such social
niceties are largely ignored and unappreciated.
Had I said excuse me, you would have grunted and
moved on.”
“Well,”
she countered, “I think small acts of
courtesy are the least we can do in this barbaric
world. Civilization begins by saying excuse me
after you’ve practically knocked someone
down on their rear end in the subway!”
“Now, now,”
he replied in a patronizing tone. “You’re
exaggerating. You merely staggered a few steps,
and you never came close to hitting the ground. I
would have helped you get up.”
“That’s
mighty kind of you,” she answered cynically.
“You see,
you don’t really think it’s kind,”
he noted. “You’re just being sarcastic.
Had I been gallant and noble, you would have
laughed in my face. Besides, no one ever
apologized to me.”
“No one
ever apologized to you for what?” she
inquired.
“For
having thrown me into a meaningless world where
my existence is absurd, unless I choose to give
it meaning by making responsible decisions like
saying excuse me on the subway. You have
criticized my decision not to say excuse me, and
you are threatening my values and my freedom.”
“I am?”
“Yes, you
have shattered my freedom by gazing upon me with
that look of disapproval, and I have temporarily
lost my Self because I have been transformed into
the object of your critical gaze.”
“What are
you going to do about it?” she wanted to
know.
“Merely
stare back at you and transform you into the
object of my critical gaze. Then I will get my
Self back, and you will lose your Self instead.”
“Not
really,” she replied. “You would be
acting in bad faith.”
“And
aren’t you?” he asked with interest.
“Of
course not. I am not the one denying my
responsibility in this situation. You have the
freedom to run away from saying excuse me, and
you are, indeed, running away,” she pointed
out.
“Actually,
I am standing right here,” he disputed.
“Yes, but
only because we are in transit. As soon as the
train stops, you will run away.” The train
stopped, and he began to shove past other
passengers to head for the open doors.
“By the
way, what’s your name?” she called
after him.
He looked over
his shoulder and smiled at her. “Jean-Paul
Sartre,” he replied.
After all, he
had the freedom to lie.
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