God, I fucking hate people who don’t acknowledge your own personal space. I’m not talking about in a crowded subway, or a crowded store, or a crowded street – a place where there’s limited space and nowhere for them to go except up the crack of your ass.
No, I’m talking about places where there’s absolutely no fucking reason for somebody to even touch you.
I was at a bagel place recently, and there was a pretty long line. Saturday afternoon, nothing special. And as I’m standing there, I can feel someone behind me. It wasn’t as if she was literally climbing up my back, but just like when you can feel someone watching you, I could feel a … presence.
Finally, I look back, and there’s a woman in her mid-to-late 40s eagerly looking around me on both sides, presumably trying to figure out what she’s going to order. She looked confused and Eastern European – not sure if those go hand-in-hand, but maybe they don’t have “the circle” in the former Soviet Union bloc countries.
If you’re standing in line, it’s a buffer zone of a foot-and-a-half, one foot at least. And that’s a radius; it’s in every direction. This woman was in clear violation, constantly nudging my elbows or brushing against my jacket. I glanced back and shook my head annoyingly several times, but she (not surprisingly) failed to get the hint. I’d have said something, but my words probably would’ve bounced off her like homemade Molotov cocktails off a Russian tank.
So, in conclusion: BACK THE FUCK UP, BAGLADY. I don’t know you and I certainly don’t want your schmutz on my Puma jacket. We’re not in line for fucking Springsteen tickets – it’s a goddamn bagel. Sure, they’ve got lots of nice options, and plenty of spreads, but that doesn’t mean you have to crawl onto my shoulders to look at the menu.
Gimme some space, bitch.