I posted a thought about my feelings on the residents of Utah standing in my personal space ... repeatedly ... and thinking their car, if it swerves just fast enough to swerve in front of mine and slam on it's breaks in deadlock traffic will obviously get to the location "first". There is more to say ... and my blog is where I say pretty much anything that's on my mind, so here I say.
Please note to the right the image of personal space. You will note there are levels at which personal space is managed. There is the audience zone, social zone, friend zone, and intimate zone. I first enountered individuals assuming we were at the intimate level when I moved to the Azore Islands. As I stood in line for a gelato, I could feel someone's breath on my neck and their shirt brushing against my back side. Every time I moved forward, they moved forward. I couldn't speak any Portuguese at the time, so all I could do was try to use my obvious unnerved body language to illustrate the national language of "get the hell away from me". The islanders missed the memo. I remained personal space intimate with every islander, at every store, every restaurant, every everywhere for 2 years. After having lived in Japan where everyone stays at my favorite personal space of audience level, and don't touch each other rather preferring a bow, these islanders were a little more than I could take.
We moved back to the states and the correct parameters of my personal space were reestablished. I can speak english fluently unlike portuguese, and when I mutter the phrase, "are you gonna buy me breakfast in the morning?" that means you have entered my intimate space and unless you are indeed going to buy me breakfast in the morning, time to back away back into social, better yet, audience zone. I haven't had to utter that particular phrase more than a couple of times since we moved back to the states ... until we moved back to the motherland. Utah, oh blessed utopia of social ignorance, so great to be back.
I have noticed many things since moving back to Utah after 17 years of being away. The list is long, and on the off chance my mom will read this I will act like a lady and just stick to the personal space and ignorant driving. I am not going to blame Utah in general since I never noticed this growing up in northern utah. I had either drank the kool aid and didn't even notice this was an issue, or perhaps I had to spend three years in Japan to reprogram my behaviors. Maybe this is a Utah County thing (let's just assume it is as all things in Utah County). Either way, I would like to declare my personal space. I am NOT intimate with everyone in Utah, stop assuming we are friends, socially I stand in jaw gaping awe at all of you most days, so it would be best you just stay in audience personal space.
I am concerned that Utah County, not unlike a 12X18 miles island I spent 2 years of my life on, has also not gotten the memo on body language. When I move forward in line, that is NOT your cue to take a step forward yourself and physically touch my body. Walmart will still take your coupons even if you are after me. I don't coupon, I promise, my whole shopping cart filled to the brim will take less time to check out than the 4 double, triple, BOGO, fight with the cashier and wait for a manager, items in your cart. Yes, I am glaring at you in the smallest iota of space where I can actually turn my head and not be in a position to kiss you directly on your lips. Spit on you? Might happen. Back off.
When you hear me mumble it's because I'm being kind and not trying to make your Utah County ears bleed with my random threats of hostility and foul words launched at your personal understanding of social norms. But, be forewarned, this assumption of yours that we are intimate is happening every where I go! My patience is short after 6 months of having each of you breathe down my neck, touch my butt, and keep on moving forward. Yes, I do get in front of my cart to unload my groceries onto the checker's line. Why? Because if I am in front of my cart, then you are behind my cart, and I can edge it backwards towards you hinting at the fact that you should back away. If I bump you with said cart, it's not an accident, do you see me smiling or apologizing? I bump you because you are not getting my subtle body language and I am happy to provide you with a definitive answer to my personal space needs ... back off.
There is a Yogurt store chain of sorts here in Utah County. You are given a cup/bowl at the front door then directed to various yogurt dispensers and toppings. Since I hate buffets, this is my fresh hell, but my kids seem to be fans. When I am standing at the yogurt dispenser trying to help my 3 year-old, don't crowd me. We are not intimate. Audience level. When we head over to the toppings table, don't run ahead of me so you can get to the assortment of crap everyone has sneezed on and touched so you can get a big spoonful on YOUR yogurt first. Trust me, the trough size tubs of oreos and gummy bears will still be there even if you aren't there first. You don't have to be first.
This brings me to my next issue. Driving in Utah. The whole personal space issue seems to segue nicely into what I am beginning to believe might be a local phenomenon. Being first. The local interstate (I-15) has construction running down each side of it for miles throughout Utah County. A very special aka maniacal borderline schizophrenic person was put in charge of this nonsense and decided as each phase of road construction stretches to the next (all at the same time) it is important to thereby change all of the merge rules, detours, and sometimes just completely eliminate interstate exits. There is not a day I am on I-15 that I don't see at least 2 accidents ... that slow down the whole process even further.
As if it isn't frustrating enough ... this special form of construction know how affords me the delightful opportunity to merge into one lane along with everyone else who has been going 65mph in 4 lanes. The traffic is deadlocked, it's not moving, and every damn time some fool thinks driving in any lane but their own to merge "first" is a definitive right. There is never any warning much less a blinker or even a honk when said individual (sometimes even two cars) speed up and start to edge at the side of my vehicle as to indicate, "I WILL be first so you need to back away and let me in front of you." As I look down the interstate all I can see is a single line of deadlocked traffic. Initially, I don't understand their rush and assume they will get back into their proper in line position. No, no in Utah, drivers will be first. I can now FEEL their tire edging against mine. WTF?
I look over briefly to ascertain the type of individual who is obviously violent, rude, and must be first. WTF? A van full of polygamist wives and their 10 children? Are you kidding me? Then there are days I see what appears to be a kindly grandmother look at me with the devil in her eyes as she swerves in front of me, slams on her brakes, and narrowly avoids both of us being one of those daily roadside accidents on the interstate. It would seem this behavior is not limited to anyone. Polygamist wives, grandma's, soccer moms, it doesn't matter. You have a Utah license plate? Utah = first. I guess my Colorado license plate throws them off into thinking I am not local and thereby not entitled to first.
Despite what would appear to be a pacifist sort of license plate with the state of Colorado and their "legalized" status, please note: I do not have half a blunt hanging out of my mouth, my hair isn't in dreads, and I don't have a rasta sign emblazoned with the letters MJ on my bumper. I am an SUV gas guzzling proud to be an American God Bless the USA if you bomb us fire right on back and p.s. if I have to be in this state one more day of my life I might be incarcerated for slapping the person in line behind me thinking they are allowed in my intimate space mother of four boys who isn't acccustomed and cannot allow moronic behavior to exist or my boys would tip the power balance at home, AND my only bumper sticker is a magic sticker given to us from our friend who is a New Hampshire State Trooper that indicates, "don't pull me over, I'm one of you", woman who fully supports the 2nd amendment and would probably pack heat if I didn't have small children at home. Oh, and I'm a bad shot, so tempting fate when I do finally lose it, (any day now) isn't ain your best interest. That bullet could go anywhere. Might even singe off your long braid down the back of your little polygamist head.
I may not look like "first" to you when you stand in line and breathe down my neck and then swerve your 15 passenger circa 1982 family van in front of my Expedition, and you may feel as if you are entitled (don't get me started, that is another blog entirely, Utah and Entitlement Assumption) ... enough Utah County, enough. Everyone gets to their intended destination when they are supposed to get there. I'm not intimate with any of you, we aren't friends, socially I'm genuinely disconcerted with 95% of you, and you are already gawking at me for not having an RULDS2 bumper sticker so you probably should just remain in your audience position of personal space with me .. or the next time, the very next time, prepare to be second.
