Community: Real Life

Personal space invaders

Currently suffering a mid-twenties life crisis, Sophia should not be approached unless you're armed with a keg of beer and a bag of lardy chips. She edits a website in London and would be happy writing gubbins for the rest of her life as a living.

Step back people, and give Sophia Wong some room. Go on, do yourself a favour. Or else.

Sometimes I pray for a cattle prod and no consequences because I take people in my personal space, personally.

If you know you're a space invader do me a favour and just say to yourself next time "What am I doing here? I'm crowding her, causing her anxiety and her cheeks to go cerise. I should fuck off."

Step back or lose those teeth. Do you understand? You couldn't make me more nervous than if you were wielding a wheely bin and duct tape.

On public transport it's kind of acceptable, there has been the odd occasion on the tube where I've wanted to flail and scream "Getcha briefcase outta my arse." But generally I understand that I am going to have to suffer someone's armpit for a while if I'm going to board the sardine tin to work.

But if there's plenty of space and I don't know you well enough to 1) share a duvet, or 2) invite you to my funeral; then please stand clear.

Generally I understand that I am going to have to suffer someone's armpit for a while if I'm going to board the sardine tin to work.

I used to work with a space offender and casual molester. You could see people that had been stroked on the arm or had their locks fondled, they obviously felt violated and dirty from the way they'd brush off the invisible germs after she left. So it's not just me.

I also remember fondly the last time she reached her dinner lady arms out to my hair and how I told her I'd bite her if she ever did it again.

Maybe you think I'm just cold-blooded and heartless to hate the tactility. You could be right.  If you want to find out just how cold blooded and hateful I am, why not stand a little closer...

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Updated: 11/02/2005


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