I once ran a small experiment with one of my students — let's call him Kenny — across seven sessions. The instruction was simple. Every time he travelled to or from the office, he was to take the very last seat in the bus, the long one at the back, and sit in a particular way: one body on the middle seat, both hands resting wide on the seats on either side. In effect, he was occupying three seats while only sitting on one.

The second part of the instruction mattered more. He was to move only when someone directly told him to move. No volunteering. No reading the situation. If a pregnant woman boarded, if someone arrived carrying a baby, if people stood around him with luggage and bags of vegetables — he was not to glance up, not to shift, not to perform the usual social courtesy of making room. He would move only on a spoken request.

What the crowd did instead

Over fourteen journeys, with people standing right beside him, holding heavy bags and children, Kenny was asked to move only two times. Twice out of fourteen. The rest of the time, nobody said a word. They stood. They waited. They adjusted themselves around him rather than ask him to make space.

Why? Because of how he appeared. His posture read as settled, immovable, the body of someone who probably wasn't going to budge. People looked at him and quietly decided, without testing it, that asking would be pointless. So they didn't ask at all.

Assumption leads to hesitation

This is the pattern I wanted Kenny to feel, not just hear about. Human beings assume constantly, and those assumptions shape behaviour long before any words are exchanged. A wide, closed-off posture signals "this person is not available," and the brain of the onlooker fills in a whole story: he won't move, he'll be annoyed, it's not worth the awkwardness. That story produces hesitation, and hesitation produces silence.

Notice what actually happened here. The standing passengers had every right to ask for a seat. They were tired, loaded with bags, some with babies. And yet a single piece of body language — a man taking up space with relaxed authority — was enough to talk them out of a perfectly reasonable request. We don't respond to reality. We respond to what we assume about it.

Where this shows up in your life

The bus is just a stage. The same mechanism runs through offices, families and friendships every single day:

  • You don't ask a senior for help because you've assumed they're too busy — though they never said so.
  • You hold back a question in a meeting because someone's folded arms read as impatience.
  • You decide a friend is upset with you based on a short reply, and withdraw before checking.

In each case the assumption arrives first, the hesitation follows, and the conversation that might have changed everything simply never happens.

What to do with this

Body language reveals tendencies, not verdicts. A closed posture suggests someone may be unavailable; it doesn't confirm it. The man taking three seats might gladly move the moment you ask — you only know if you speak. So the discipline I'd offer is this: notice your assumption, name it, and then test reality with a respectful question instead of acting on the guess.

Everyone's journey is genuinely different. The person blocking the seat may be exhausted, grieving, or simply unaware. You can't read all of that from a posture. The one thing fully in your control is how you carry yourself — be respectful, be willing to ask, and don't let an assumption do your deciding for you.