Now for a P.S.A.

I am a proud public transport user. I treasure my monthly Metrocard (so much so that I occasionally allow it a vacation from use in the deep recesses of my overfilled purse) and relish my commute of reading and iPod time. And with a beautiful view of the Brooklyn Bridge to and from the office, you can't blame me for having a big ol' crush on the N train.

But there are other crushes on the N train. Of the human variety. Peak time in the morning can be a little uncomfortable for those afraid of close spaces or big crowds. As I said, though, I love public transport and cheerfully (OK, so maybe sometimes I'm a little surly about it, but you get my drift) relax my strong no-touching policies for the crush of humanity that, like me, is just trying to get to work.

Today, I left the house rather on time (hooray!). I caught the local to Pacific St., where an N was waiting. Clutching my overfilled purse and umbrella, I squeezed through the throng at the door to a place above the bench seats. As I grabbed the bar, I noticed a man's hand just next to mine. Then I noticed that the hand was connected to a body that was crowding me. A lot. I tried to inch forward, adjusted my belongings to give the dude some space, but he wasn't taking my efforts as a signal to readjust.

No, this dude seemed to get closer to me, in fact. It was a mildly crowded train, though not the worst I've encountered. So I was puzzled when it dawned on me that this fellow's body was pressed fully against me not out of necessity, but rather on purpose.

"No," I thought, "that can't be. Who would do that?" I leaned forward, putting my full weight on the hand holding the bar, such that I was dangling precariously above the lady seated in front of me. Then, thinking another subtle signal could be in order, I rocked back on my heels and pushed him. Maybe a little arm strain would inspire him to realize that he was crowding me.

No dice. We are body-to-body in a manner that it is very much not cool. I lean forward again. The woman in front of me peers around me, up at me, and around me again. She takes one of her earbuds out. She knits her brow, looks up at me, and I look down with an expression that is probably half apology and half mayday.

We are underground, so the window in front of me is dark. I plant my feet wide and stare at the reflection of man behind me. He comes up to my earlobe, and he makes eye contact with me over my shoulder. I stare. Hard. His thin mustache twitches and he looks away.

At this point, I cannot believe that someone is really doing this to me. And, though I'm not typically a shrinking violet, I find myself totally powerless. Ew. Ew. Ew. Who does this? Every time I muster the resolve to menace him with my umbrella, or snap a picture for Holla Back NYC, another part of my brain convinces me that there's no way I'm right about this. This must be some kind of mistake.

We engage in another stare-down before as the train gains altitude and we come up onto the bridge. His whole body is pressed against mine. The woman in front of me makes eye contact with him, I think, and he steps back. I stand flat-footed again and he backs off a little more. I look over my shoulder just to verify the crowdedness of the train. As I suspected, not roomy but no justification of full-body contact.

When we stop at Canal, he retreats quickly onto the platform. I take stock of my now-restored personal space. I realize that I have been frotteurized. But, of course, the ridiculous thing is that I did have a legitimate fight with myself over whether it was happening when I was in the moment. Because, rationally, you have to wonder what kind of person gets off on rubbing up against perfect strangers on a crowded train. Also, rationally, you wonder why a strapping thing such as myself experienced a real crisis over whether she should confront the small man with the thin mustache.

So, the point of this whole narrative (which is not meant to frighten my parents...I'm safe and fine and all that), is that this is not going to happen again. Firstly, after multiple staring matches with this guy, I'm pretty sure I could spot him on the platform again, and if I encounter him again, he's going to get the umbrella-menacing of a lifetime. Boy howdy.

Furthermore, while I think it's important to adopt an "we're all in this together" attitude and try to be accomodating when it comes to small crowded spaces (like planes and trains and elevators), it is also important to be aware and identify a frotteur (which translated from French, means "one who rubs") loudly and publicly should he or she take advantage of close quarters for a little fun. Do it when the doors are closed and they can't get away. After being made to feel like a gross, powerless object, your only recourse is public ridicule (and possibly misdemeanor charges if it was really bad).

image from cs.umd.edu