This… is my space! That… is yours!

Yesterday I was at the petrol station paying for my petrol and suddenly out of nowhere I felt something warm on the back of my neck plus some heavy breathing. It was a space invader!

I just froze, and my mind started racing, I could feel the anger rising up inside me and my blood beginning to boil! And do you know why? Well let me tell you!! I hate my space being invaded, I hate feeling like I’m on a crowded bus or on the train, when I’m not!

I wanted to step back and dig my heels in his/ her shoes and hear the sweet cries of pain! oh mama!! Damn! should have worn my heels I was sadly wearing flats.  Sometimes I pray for a cattle prod and no consequences because I take people in my personal space, personally.

If you know you’re a space invader do me a favour and just say to yourself next time “What am I doing here? I’m crowding her, causing her anxiety and her cheeks to go cerise. I should step back and stop breathing my germs down the back of her neck.”

Step back or lose those teeth or lose a toe because I’m gonna step back onto it. Do you understand? You couldn’t make me more nervous than if you were wielding a wheely bin and duct tape.

On public transport it’s kind of acceptable, there has been the odd occasion on the tube where I’ve wanted to flail and scream “Getcha briefcase outta my backside!!.” But generally I understand that I am going to have to suffer someone’s armpit for a while if I’m going to board the sardine tin as transport for that day.

But if there’s plenty of space and I don’t know you well enough to

1.    to tell you where i live.

2.   invite you to my funeral

then please stand clear! You have your space and I have mine!

Some people just don’t get the meaning of it and will act so offended when you try to move away or show your utter disgust on the matter. If I don’t know you, I don’t want you in my space, I don’t want to smell your breath either and you don’t want you touching me, you get me?

I used to study with a space offender and casual molester. You could see people that had been stroked on the arm or had their locks fondled, they obviously felt violated and dirty from the way they’d brush off the invisible germs after she left. So it’s not just me.

I also remember fondly the last time she reached her dinner lady arms out to my hair and how I told her I’d bite her if she ever did it again.

Maybe you think I’m just cold-blooded and heartless to hate the tactility. You could be right.  If you want to find out just how cold blooded and hateful I am, why not stand a little closer…

I’ve got my heels on this time!


8 responses to “This… is my space! That… is yours!

  1. It’s personal, my personal space is as far as my arms can stretch to the end of my finger tips, my middle finger to be exact.I drive where ever I need to go so thank god that I’m protected from the mass transit system and the odd ball people that use it.But going to the Dr, grocery store, dealing with clients and ofcourse social gatherings are a field mind of social retards!!! You will be confronted with wide aray of characters like, the nose picker, the belcher, the gas giver and yes the worst character of all, the bad bad breath giver.Yes I know I have veared away from the topic so yes I can’t stand people who have to be two inches from your face just to communicate their message.Have they been not tought

  2. I got one in the bank que the other day, it was almost as if he was enjoying my discomofort. Shame on them! Are they starved of affection? I wonder!

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