I love personal space. I don’t want to be in anyone’s circle of comfort. I especially hate when people stand too close to me when I’m eating. I have no idea of what kind of particles can fly from your mouth, or off of you and onto my food. Yuck.
I work with a woman who is a major close talker. I swear it’s like a Seinfeld episode. She has NO CONCEPT of personal space. Talking to her is like a bad dance. She moves in on me, I inch away. She moves closer. I inch further. It’s a dance that I often lose, simply because there’s usually limited space behind me.
Typically I place myself on the other side of a barrier from her so that she can’t possibly get within one foot of me, i.e. a table, her desk, etc.
This week I’ve been battling a bad case of stomach flu, and I don’t know about anyone else, but when I’m sick, I don’t want anyone to come too close. I don’t want to smell what you’re eating, I don’t want to feel the heat of your breath. As disgusting as that is when I’m healthy, it’s horrifically so when I’m nauseated and potentially have a fever.
Close Talker was organizing our charity gift collection, and I was having trouble with wrapping paper. I was standing in the kitchen, and she was holding a bowl of oatmeal. She was smacking her stinky concoction, and comes and stood right on top of me as I was trying to keep my bite of banana from being regurgitated. She was just talking and smacking and talking some more. In the meantime, I could barely stand it. I had moved as far away from her as possible and she had me cornered into the side of the table. I was soon very sorry that I didn’t just run out and get my own freakin’ wrapping paper!
I wanted to say, “Back off, bitch! We’re not in a fucking third world country! There is plenty of space for me, you, and everyone. So exercise your American privilege, and stay the hell out of my atmosphere!”
Instead I said: “You should probably stay away from me. I’m very sick.” She finally backed off, reluctantly.
I wonder how many illnesses she catches every year from being close enough to literally suck the germs from the mouths of strangers.
Yesterday, one of my colleagues complained of “spider bites” on her arms. Those turned out to be chickenpox. I wonder if Miss Close-Talker managed to become infected. Then again, I’m sure she’s had them already as a result of invading someone else’s space.
