Glass windows and stones

personal-space

There are a lot of things that don’t make sense to me. Family dynamics would be high on the list, along with general hygiene practices in public restrooms. I keep most of these opinions to myself. Nobody wants to hear me running through the ladies’ room ranting about a certain sibling who reacts to even the simplest request as if he is about to undergo rectal surgery with a javelin. If you happen to see me exiting a bathroom, using nothing but my feet and elbows to touch the doors and looking like I’m playing Twister, you can assume that I have a fear of something more than cooties based on what I’ve just witnessed inside. I’ll let your imagination run away with you while I try to do the same.

The longer I live though, the more I realize that humans are or can be a less than appetizing species. Forget about the fact that we are the only animals that willingly, knowingly and sometimes deliberately poison our own water supply. At best, we exhibit (exhibitionism being the problem) behaviors that should at the very least be practiced behind closed doors, preferably in the privacy of our homes. At worst, we could use a refresher course in simple manners and basic etiquette. Memo to people driving in cars: your vehicle has windows. Those windows are made of glass. I know where your index finger has been. Why does this surprise you?

The other day I was in line at the bank. A woman walked in and took her wrongful place behind me. There was nobody else in line and yet she insisted on being as close to me as possible without being married. She was that close. Every time I moved to gain some personal space in that imaginary world called “that which you should not invade or cross,” she did just that.

All that said, if I can’t follow someone’s cell phone conversation at the movie theater, I might tap the person in front of me on the shoulder and query, “I can’t hear you now. Could you speak a little louder?”

If only I had the courage to confront the others.

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