I Like Big Seats

By CALVIN TRILLIN

I'm trying not to become alarmed by the evidence that American bottoms are steadily widening, even though it's not easy to escape the conclusion that if this trend continues, we may, as a nation, run out of places to sit. The disquieting proof of our spreading behinds came to me via an admirably thorough piece by Rene Sanchez in the Washington Post, a piece that confirmed a vague feeling I'd been having on the subway lately that the seat running along most of the length of the car seemed awfully crowded considering how few people were sitting on it.

Once I had read some actual backside statistics that Sanchez had gathered--in Seattle, of all places, a city the rest of us associate with outdoor physical conditioning of a level somewhere between conscientious and grim--I remembered that a year or so ago, when I'd had the occasion to share a few meals with some American wine distributors who were visiting individual producers in the south of France, I'd noticed that each distributor seemed to be almost precisely the size of a French family of four.

According to Sanchez's research, the 18-in.-per-bottom measurement traditionally used by seat engineers is now considered obsolete. Puget Sound ferries that once seated 250 Seattle commuters comfortably have been forced to carry fewer passengers because of what was diagnosed, after some study, as posterior creep. A seating consultant has advised a Seattle theater that's under restoration to include a few dozen 24-in. seats, and is training staff members "how to make subtle overtures to obese patrons who might not be aware of the special seating available to them at the theater."

I'd like to see those training sessions. Could it be that the ticket line is routed through an opening that measures fanny width in the way those templates that some airlines put on airport X-ray machines weed out carry-on bags that won't fit under the seat or in the overhead rack? Probably not. It's more likely that ticket takers are trained to eyeball patrons from the rear, in a swift and nonthreatening manner, and give the extra-large-approaching signal (maybe a quick puffing out of the cheeks) to an usher, who then asks, with a helpful look and no smile at all, "Could I interest you in something in the full-cut section, sir?" I can imagine the final examination of the training session, with volunteers moving past the ticket box and the trainee shouting out, "Twenty-three...18...38..."

Limitations on tush space, like any limitations, carry the seeds of political tension. Even in Seattle, which is known as a courteous town, the ferry company's effort to reduce passenger load on Puget Sound commutes apparently provoked a petition that warned against the dangers of "butt police." A commuter told Sanchez that at least passengers hadn't had their backsides measured before being allowed to board. But what if space becomes even scarcer? Someday the prudent immigrant might show up for his citizenship exam not just with his papers in order and his head crammed with facts about the Constitution but also with everything emptied out of his back pockets.