Sunday, January 31, 2010

You Close-Talking Son of a Bitch

Disclaimer: It was recently brought to my attention that the following post topic was discussed on Seinfeld and that it seems like I stole the idea and ran with it. I did not. I have never seen the episode of Seinfeld, or hardly any episodes of Seinfeld for that matter. But, if you have seen the episode I'm talking about, you probably don't want to read this because, well, it's not a new idea to you. So carry on. I have like 25 other posts for you to read.

I believe in something called personal space. Personal space is an imaginary bubble that an individual may claim as theirs. It extends about 2 feet from the body all the way around, to be exact. Most people I've come in contact with abide by the 2 feet personal wall and are very comfortable to converse with. However, there is a subset of society that tears through the boundary like there's no tomorrow: the close-talker.

Y'all know what I'm talking about. I'll set the stage for you: You go to a networking event after work. Some random who's actually wearing the name tag that you long ago decided you would never wear at work events comes up to you and starts talking your ear off. You engage in the conversation because that's what you're supposed to do at networking events. But you quickly notice that every 17 seconds, he scoots closer to you. You begin to panic. He's entering your personal space. No, no, no, no, no! Your mind begins racing with polite ways to exit the conversation without being awkward. None will suffice. You surrender. Only to notice that he moved closer again! Is he serious? Does he notice that your straining your neck backwards to keep those extra 4 inches to yourself? He obviously doesn't. Within minutes it legitimately looks like the two of you are going to go full out PDA in front of the entire group.

Now imagine the previous situation happening except the close-talker has coffee/pizza/beer/halitosis breath. Actually don't if you're anything like me. I just dry heaved.

You may be asking yourself why I'm writing about this at 2am on a Saturday night. Well, because I'm crazy first of all. But secondly, when left alone for long stretches of time, I begin to think about my life. Thinking about my life makes me think about the fact that I do not have a job. Thinking about losing my job makes me think about when I had my last job. Thinking about my last job makes me sick. Because my boss was a close-talker. He was also a lot of other things but I am trying to cut down the length of my posts so I'm not going there. But his close-talking got under my skin because not only did he not abide by the 2 foot rule, he pulled you closer when you tried to back away. Who does that?

I can't decide why close-talkers need to cozy up so much. Do they want to know what type of gum I'm chewing? (It's usually orange Stride by the way). Do they want to check out my complexion? (It's not very good lately by the way). Do they want to make-out? (Gross. I am going to stereotype here. I have never come in contact with a close-talker I found attractive). Are they hard of hearing? (If so, I am really sorry, truly. But there are really little hearing aids that are basically invisible these days. Invest). Or do they just have gigantic egos that feel most comfortable overpowering me by physically getting in my face? (Bingo).

I can't tell a close-talker to back up while I'm being assaulted by one in person. Because I'm too afraid. So I hope somehow they read my blog and get the point: I will gladly invite you in if I feel comfortable enough with you. Or if you have a piece of gum in your mouth. But other than that, please do not assume that I want to be able to see your nose hairs up close and personal. Back up. These two feet are mine. Thank you!

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