Tag Archives: personal space hijackers

Personal Space Hijackers

13 May

What is it with you?

What!

You are not family. You are not friends. You are not even hi-and-bye acquaintances. You’re strangers. Complete I-don’t-know-you people who should respect the personal space radius surrounding me. At least a three to five yard circumference, depending on where we are. But you don’t get it. You just don’t. You walk on up with no regard for that piece of earth, that region, that atmosphere that surrounds me and that I lay claim to as soon as I walked into it. Psychologically speaking, it’s mine. I called it. But there you are, completely disregarding the rules of the universe, thus branding you a jackass.

I’m tired of you, constantly showing up. Unannounced.

If this goes any further, we might have lead roles on the latest episode of Oxygen’s Snapped!, and I assure you, you probably wouldn’t like the part. But you have no one to blame but yourself. And don’t claim ignorance. I know you know. You do. You know. You just don’t care and it’s this blatant disregard that really burns me out. If you keep at it, there’s no amount of chocolate that will help settle the wrath boiling within. So you better recognize and get steppin’. Recognize!

I wake up early, you know. I don’t like waking up early. I’m not a morning person, but I make it happen, because the reward is big. The beach. It’s nature. It has the perfect spot just waiting for me. It’s not too close to the waves, but not too far from the shoreline. Just close enough to hear the waves crashing and smell the salt of sea. It’s a place where the sand is soft and not too grainy. No seaweed in sight, no seagulls, and far enough from the volleyball courts so that I don’t get smashed with one in the face. The perfect spot for your towel. Me time with a view. These things are necessary for my own sanity. So I get there early, so I can get my spot. I scout the space. The beach is huge. Miles of space. But I figure out which piece of sand is best for me, and I set up my personal space radius. Towel. Chanclas. Beach chair. Bag.

 

This is me. This is my spot. Ready for "me time," until they show up ... personal space killers.

This is me. This is my spot. Ready for “me time,” until they show up … personal space killers.

 

There it is. You see me. I know you do. You see the stretch of sand on the right, the stretch of sand on the left. Those patches are attached to me. Anything within arms or foot reach is within my personal space circle. You know that. I know you do, because I bet you don’t sidle up to anybody at the ATM machine. You give them their space. So why? Why do you insist on hijacking my personal space? There is plenty of  sand and space beyond mine. Plenty. And some without seaweed. But what do you?

 

The Personal Space Hijackers. Right there.

The Personal Space Hijackers. It looks like I know them, right? My towel is next to the buckets. You would think I was part of the family, right? NO. No. I’m not.  These are the people who suck.

Are you kidding me!

Really?

I know you heard me and my suggestions for you to move further away. I know you saw my dirty looks and eye rolls when you didn’t. I know you heard my hostility. But no, that didn’t matter. Nice or angry, neither approach worked for you. You didn’t care. You just had your agenda to hijack my space and ruin my day. You suck. I bet if I were wearing a thong and showing half my ass, your wives and their crazy bitchy nature would have walked further down to the empty piece of land a few yards away. Thongs.

I’m not the thong-wearer. I’m a board shorts apparel owner. So in order to regain my personal space, I had to leave my perfect spot in search of another. I ended up surrounded by seagulls, seaweed scraps, and no direct view of the beach. Just cellulite and bikinis that really should have been one piece swimsuits.

Karma … you better handle this. Personal Space Hijackers suck. They really do. I hope there is a flat tire with no spare, no air-conditioning, and no cell service in their future. I really do.