Personal Space — 50 feet please!

Abiding the laws of personal space should be a requirement for every U.S. citizen.

Seriously, how many times have you stood in the checkout line and felt someone breathing on your neck? Lately, I’ve found myself mouthing the words, “50 feet please!” as I stand in line waiting to use the ATM or in a bank line waiting for my turn to extract funds. What is wrong with people who feel it’s their natural born rite to stand so close to you they can read every word on you license?

Now I don’t have high blood pressure, but I think I’ve actually felt the systolic and diastolic numbers rise and fall a few times while standing in line. The potential release of my untamed tongue destroying the boring ambiance in the pharmacy increases when the silent prayers are no longer able to keep my raging thoughts contained. The heels of my feet aren’t equipped with skid resistant shields and I’m not ok with leaving out of the store with Band-Aids covering the scrapes on my heels from the ten close encounters between the lil’ lady behind me and my vulnerable heels. If I knew I was going to be in line in front of this hardcore chick, I wouldn’t have worn sling-backs. I first thought her motive was to injure me, but then I began to think she may have a case of Alzheimer’s, and perhaps thought she accompanied me to the store to purchase her prescription. Hell, I thought about going along with that craziness if that would guarantee she would sit down and wait for me to pay at the counter.  Just as I lose the last ounce of patience because prayer could no longer help succumb the urge of scaring the crap out of the fragile soul by unleashing my tongue to dispel forceful chants that would encourage her to back the hell up; the cashier motions for me to approach her at the register.

My favorite close encounters are moments in the grocery store self-checkout lines. There is an invisible force that overpowers the minds of shoppers, enticing them to stand and witness your art of scanning groceries. They watch every move you make with amazement as you weigh your own produce & vegetables, and get even more excited as you scan your milk, eggs, ice cream and butter. Suddenly they become more intense in their task of observation when you lean towards the screen to key in the total number of muffins or donuts in the pastry bag; as if they have been temporarily employed to monitor your transactions. I crack up as I ask them for assistance in bagging my items – since they want to be a part of my shopping experience.

Personal space violators are just too damn close for my comfort. I have the perfect remedy for the awkward space invaders. I encourage anyone who feels a violation of personal space has occurred in a checkout line to implement the following: turn slowly without warning and face the violator; smile and look straight ahead with your hands folded, and blurt out random chants of impatience for long lines and close encounters.

I guarantee your personal space will be granted instantly.