Finding The Center

Women seem to have a unique capacity to find the middle of an aisle, a doorway, the space in front of an escalator, while men seem to focus on finding the path from point a to point b.

I first noticed this years ago in supermarkets. A cart is left in the aisle so that the, dare we call her, pusher can browse. In smaller buildings with narrow aisles, I have found that whether one wishes to pass on the left or right, it is not possible to do so. In larger markets with wider aisles, the pusher adopts the "strolling browse" technique: Standing to one side of the cart, the pusher moves to the side to contemplate the cans, boxes, or bags. This effectively blocks more than half of the aisle, and passing is impossible.

More recently, I have observed at parties that females tend to stand in the middle of a doorway, and as more acquaintances arrive, the doorway is now not much more than a human door.

Similarly, at the bottom of escalators, small groups of females will stand two strides in front of the escalators departure point while they discuss which part of the store they will assault next.

As I have thought about it, I have come to believe that men are logistical - always creating a plan to get from point to point as efficiently as possible. This may account for the lousy driving habits we males do tend to have.

Women, on the other hand, seem to place the interpersonal element higher on the scale of essential values. So rather than think about blocking the path to the bar, they focus on seeing Martha who hasn't been out much lately, greeting Phyllis who's been in New York seeing the grandkids, and hugging Jennifer who just tossed her spouse over the wall.

Now you may think I am just another male chauvinist, so let me leave you with this parting thought. Just watch the average woman when it comes time to pay for something - put the purse down on the counter, open the purse, open the smaller purse, pull out the check book, open it to the register page, ask what the date is, and what's the amount again, fill in the info, write the damn check, close the checkbook, put it in the small purse, put the small purse in the large purse, close the purse, and put it back on the shoulder.

Geez, George Balanchine couldn't choreograph a ballet any better than that performance. Unless he was standing behind our examplar in line.

I rest my case. Brickbats are available at any convenience store.