Personal space is a big issue with me. I don’t like to be crowded. I don’t like people looking through my things or handling my things without my permission. I don’t like people coming over and dumping things on my desk right on top of something that I am currently working on. I don’t do these things to other people and, in return, I expect my personal space to be respected.
It’s not often a big problem. Fortunately, I run into very few people who have no respect for another’s personal space. But when I do run into the occasional invasive personality I have to wonder, what prompts these people to stand on your toes when they talk to you, to stand so close they are literally breathing in your ear in the cashier’s line at the store, to look over your shoulder as you enter your ATM information into the cashier’s machine, to paw through the things on your desk or crane their neck around so that they can read whatever it is you are working on?
To say that that these people are downright rude doesn’t really cover the issue for me. Yes, they are rude – boorishly rude. But why? What motivates that rudeness? Do these people feel a sense of entitlement that gives them the right to pry into your business? Are they especially needy, craving closeness at whatever cost?
Do these people not feel the need for their own personal space? Or do they insist that their space remain inviolate while, at the same time, violating the personal space of everyone else around them?
I’m feeling a little Les Nessman-ish, lately. Feeling the need to mark out a 2 foot space around me with masking tape and force anyone who wants to cross over the tape to knock or ask permission. I’ve got a couple of ‘space invaders’ around me lately that are really getting under my skin. I think I’ll leave this little piece on my monitor and leave my desk for a while. Maybe they’ll read it and get the hint? That’s probably too much to hope for. They’ll probably think I’m talking about someone else or not understand what I’m talking about, at all. Maybe I’ll just attach a hoola-hoop to my hips – at least that would keep them from stepping on my damned toes.
Maybe I'll start talking alot about Gary Oldman and bug them to go read my review of Criminal Law. Hell, as long as they're standing in my space (or on my toes), I may as well take advantage of it.
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