I’m Standing Here.
(By law, so must you.)
There are approximately three hundred storage cubbies lining the interior perimeter of the men’s locker room at my gym. Every morning I walk in and survey the scene. The gym is almost always busy, but the locker room is fairly spacious. So I can usually find a quiet corner devoid of heavily-tattooed lunks and overly-chatty senior citizens. I find a free space, store my jacket, and head out to sweat.
I don’t have a “favorite” locker I use every morning. I don’t succumb to ritualistic thinking that compels me to use the same locker each and every day. I simply make a beeline for whichever one is unobstructed by half-awake, amateur athletes and their ridiculously oversized gym bags. So I store my goods in a different corner of the locker room each and every day.
And yet, when I finish my workout and return to the locker, there is inevitably some gentleman’s naked, liver-spotted rectum standing between me and my jacket. It makes no difference if my locker that day is beside the showers, or by the water fountain, or near the exit. Regardless of my choice that day, the gravity-stricken posterior of a near-centenarian is always positioned there at exactly that moment. And because retirement brings loads of free time, it languishes there as the owner monologues about the morning news, or his RV plans, or–sometimes–his hemorrhoidal ailments. On several occasions now, I’ve opted to just brave the freezing temperatures outside and fetch my jacket at a later time.
It seems uncanny that I can never fetch my jacket without someone causing an obstruction. On a daily basis, invisible forces appear to purposely prevent the enjoyment of unfettered personal space. The world we occupy is unquestionably vast and rife with room. And yet—like a few lone Cheerios in a huge bowl of cold milk—people constantly clump together needlessly. And this seems to happen despite intentional efforts—on my part at least—to avoid any human contact.
Like Darwin and Galileo, I am a keen observer of the workings of the world. And I, too, recognize there are incontrovertible laws that govern our experience. So today, I am formally coining the “Law of Spatial Annoyance,” which reads thusly:
Given even the lowest possible density of people within a given area, one person’s intended path will inevitably be obstructed by the other. And where this happens, one shall be aggravated and the other oblivious.
Though newly-minted, this law is virtually ironclad. Being blatantly above critique I won’t bother with publishing in the scientific literature. Instead, I offer just a handful of everyday observations that further demonstrate this law as irrefutable:
I often take early morning walks through my quiet residential neighborhood and won’t see a single car the whole time. But should I need to cross just one intersection along the way, a harried driver will magically appear who absolutely must turn into the same said intersection at that very moment.
Occasionally I get lucky and find myself in a largely empty movie theater as I settle in comfortably for an afternoon matinee. But just as the previews start, a father and his two coughing, hacking, snotty, gabby kids crash the party and decide to colonize the seats right next to me.
I often head out early to play disc golf, and usually find absolutely no one in sight on the course. But the moment I grab my bag and prepare to tee off, some shoeless stoner arrives and saunters languidly across the fairway while walking no less than four dogs at a time.
I’m an early riser. And on the weekends, I like to make a big morning breakfast. But occasionally, I find I’m missing an important ingredient. So I visit the grocery store at six in the morning on weekends quite often. At that time, the market has all the buzz of a morgue at midnight. I can walk the full length of the cavernous, empty store without encountering a single soul. That is, until I turn into the aisle to find my one, missing ingredient.
When I do, I always find a barely-conscious tweaker standing directly in front of the shelf I need to reach. I could be after something as beloved as hashbrowns or something as despised as Vegemite. Either way, this early-morning derelict is standing there looking for the very same item at that very moment. He slowly grows roots into the linoleum flooring as he dwells there endlessly mulling over his purchase, wholly unaware of my approaching footsteps, the presence of my six-foot frame, or my very palpable irritation.
“Excuse me,” I say flatly through clenched teeth as I reach for my item. He shoots a surprised look, as if I had suddenly appeared from a cloud of smoke. I’m aggravated, and he’s oblivious. The Law of Spatial Annoyance is fulfilled. And neither of us, it seems, is above it as we both reach for the same box of Cheerios.
Clip and share this helpful reminder with anyone defying natural law by respecting your personal space…
