Image by David Shrigley.
I am a firm believer in personal space. Ask any of my friends or coworkers. If you break the space barrier, I'll immediately begin retreating. It's not like my immune system will start breaking down, but I become very non-responsive until I have breathing room again.
One of my coworkers is the ultimate rule breaker when it comes to personal space. I see her get into the space of other secretaries, teachers and even students that come through the office. I'm cringing just imagining her pudgy arm wrap around someone's waist as she drags a body so close to her that even the most intimate of lovers are uncomfortable. There's something incredibly repulsive about her that can only be described by the fact that every time I have to dig through one of her desk drawers, my hand ends up sticky. Sometimes, while I'm passing by her desk, she'll grab my arm and pull me close to her. As she whispers to me, I can feel her moldy, hot breath on me. This is the part where I start holding my breath until I can get far enough away to breathe regular air. She's helped me develop the lungs of an olympic swimmer.
Anyway, rather than just be non-responsive and fidgety, I've learned to turn the blame onto me, apologize for getting into someone else's space and be able to back away without offending anyone. As for my coworker, she doesn't take such hints, but after an explicit conversation, we've worked things out and she usually catches herself when she gets too close to me. But now she makes this big deal like, "OH GOD, I'm in your SPACE. Back away from DIANA'S SPACE!" It's still a win-win situation for me because my desk doesn't have a lingering scent of liverwurst anymore.
Anyway, with it being summer, all the secretaries are bringing their kids to work. My favorite kid to see is Sage, Annette's daughter. Usually, kids find me uninteresting because I'm not physically playful with them (see: personal space issues), and I tend to ramble as I try to find common ground which just confuses them. Sage, however, doesn't seem to notice my awkward mannerisms and occasional rambling. In fact, she talks enough for the both of us that my presence, ears especially, is sufficient company for her.
I speak to children at the same level I would speak to my peers, and I forget that a lot of my comments which should rarely be taken seriously are in fact taken at face value. Take yesterday's conversation with Sage for example when I had just finished braiding my hair:
"Wow, did you just braid your hair?"
"Why yes I did."
"That was quick."
"Quick like a fox!"
"Foxes can't braid hair, silly!"
(Please ignore how utterly lame I am for ending a sentence with "like a fox!")
Anyway, there would be times throughout the day when I'd be walking back to my desk (I just noticed that not much occurs when I'm actually sitting at my desk; I avoid sitting at my desk as much as possible.) and Sage would appear in front of me, toe-to-toe, melding our personal space.
"Sage!" In such close proximity, it was easy for me to tower over her. It made my half-hearted scolding somewhat effective. "I need my personal space!"
"I don't!"
The more I tried to teach her about keeping a safe distance, mostly because I'm spastically clumsy and could accidentally trample her, the more she resisted the idea. I spread my arms out as a measurement of personal space, explaining that arm distance was sufficient. Slyly, she tucked her arms toward her chest and cozied up next to me. It got to the point where she pretty much attached herself to me, wrapping her little arms around my hips. When we all went out to lunch, she made sure to hold my hand.
I wasn't raised in an affectionate household. The most I got as a child was a kiss and a pat on the head. It has made hugging and basic physical affection a huge feat. It has also made the very idea of physical intimacy impossibly daunting. Anyway, the fact that Sage rejected my requests for space made me really respect and adore her. When it comes to quirks like this, I really need people there to push my boundaries. I think my generation has been raised to set up too many boundaries, too many walls, too many rules. I know this is going to sound odd, but we're almost too respectful of each other, of our "spaces". It makes us distant. It makes us impersonal. We're fearful of awkward situations that we can't go past simple, contrived interactions. In a sense, it's very dehumanizing. My hope is that there are more "space invaders" like Sage out there, pushing the boundaries with their sticky little fingers.
