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I know it's already July 3rd, but I'm going to try to blog more this month, since it's really hard for people to comment if I don't post.
Scene: It's early morning on the 1st. I'm at the post office, waiting to mail my mortgage check. There are several people in the line in front of me. Because it's hot enough to fry a politician on the sidewalk, I am wearing a VERY skimpy shirt.
The dude in front of me turns around and starts talking to me. I realize something as he's talking to me-- personal space is variable according to which way you're facing. When I was standing behind him and he was facing away from me, three feet apart was perfectly fine. Now that he's facing me, I am slowly backing away and turning half-away from him.
Why? Because he's a very noisy mouth-breather, and he's breathing hot mouth-flavored breath all over my face and upper chest. If there existed a sun dog of humidity, I would have accused this guy of manifesting it right then and there.
And yet, somehow, he was totally and completely unaware that he was practically expectorating down my cleavage. His two clues should have been that, first, if you're going to breathe at something, you've got to have it in the front center of your field of view, hence he was staring down the goods. And second, a little logic would have determined that since the owner of the goods was avoiding eye contact, backing away, and turning to face the wall, perhaps the homegrown mist-effect wasn't wanted?
Anyways, he tried to recapture my attention after his scintillating "Hot today, isn't it?" by complaining to me that the post office employees were "going off to take a break" every time they left the counter to fetch a package or bent down out of sight to retrieve something. I didn't really feel like arguing with someone who obviously had something wrong with his sinuses AND his brain, so I ignored him, with increasing difficulty, until he panted his way up to the counter and paid for his post office box.
So, yeah. I thought I was pretty tolerant of being stared at, but it turns out that I'm tolerant up until the point where they enter my personal space, and then all the alarms go off.
Scene: It's early morning on the 1st. I'm at the post office, waiting to mail my mortgage check. There are several people in the line in front of me. Because it's hot enough to fry a politician on the sidewalk, I am wearing a VERY skimpy shirt.
The dude in front of me turns around and starts talking to me. I realize something as he's talking to me-- personal space is variable according to which way you're facing. When I was standing behind him and he was facing away from me, three feet apart was perfectly fine. Now that he's facing me, I am slowly backing away and turning half-away from him.
Why? Because he's a very noisy mouth-breather, and he's breathing hot mouth-flavored breath all over my face and upper chest. If there existed a sun dog of humidity, I would have accused this guy of manifesting it right then and there.
And yet, somehow, he was totally and completely unaware that he was practically expectorating down my cleavage. His two clues should have been that, first, if you're going to breathe at something, you've got to have it in the front center of your field of view, hence he was staring down the goods. And second, a little logic would have determined that since the owner of the goods was avoiding eye contact, backing away, and turning to face the wall, perhaps the homegrown mist-effect wasn't wanted?
Anyways, he tried to recapture my attention after his scintillating "Hot today, isn't it?" by complaining to me that the post office employees were "going off to take a break" every time they left the counter to fetch a package or bent down out of sight to retrieve something. I didn't really feel like arguing with someone who obviously had something wrong with his sinuses AND his brain, so I ignored him, with increasing difficulty, until he panted his way up to the counter and paid for his post office box.
So, yeah. I thought I was pretty tolerant of being stared at, but it turns out that I'm tolerant up until the point where they enter my personal space, and then all the alarms go off.
