Hula-hoop Principal

I'm not the most private person in the world. I'm pretty much open to anything, well almost anything, at least once (maybe twice if I like it), yet there's once thing I can't handle. It's a close talker. You know the guy or girl that feels compelled to bump fuzzies while trying to carry on a conversation.

Hell I dont' get that close to my wife on a regular basis, well I used to, but now there's alien growing in her belly and well there isn't much getting close without chants of, YOU DID THIS TOO ME. Anyhoo, while at the local Home Depot earlier this week I encountered a close talker. This guy I'd never met, and mistakenly asked the location of underlayment for tile, was invading my space and just before receiving a serious smack down, if you can SMELLLLL what the phin is cooking. I'd take a step back and he'd step forward, I was weaving he was bobbing, I'd zig he'd zag. The whole time I could tell that he'd had something heavily laden in garlic for breakfast and hadn't remembered his Certs.

This guy's dragon breath is getting too me; he's chatting away like we're old friends and I'm trying not to upchuck into his shirt pocket. Now most folks would probably step away, yet it was about five minutes into the conversation I realized that I wasn't gonna be civil about it. He'd declared chemical warfare and I was prepared to do battle. So I snuck out the post putrid fart ever known to man kind, hell I was about to gag from the aroma, and held him captive.

About two seconds into the onset he tried to step away, yet I asked another question (the damage to my sinuses had already been done), thus forcing the Homey Depot employee to answer another, more detailed question and to enjoy the aromatic qualities of the previous nights dinner. Now I could see this poor saps mind churning, trying to find a way to back out politely, yet I wasn't buying it. He'd zig, I'd zag, soon I had him cornered and fired off round two. About this time I was having trouble keeping a straight face and was biting so hard on my bottom lip I could taste blood, yet I persevered, he had to be taught a lesson. So I detained him for a couple minutes more until he'd served his sentence.

Now before you go getting all high and mighty, calling me uncouth and preaching about manners; this entire episode could have been avoided had Mr. Close Talker stayed out of the three foot zone of my personal space, thereby adhering to the Hula-hoop principal. I'm also never entering the flooring section of the local Home Depot without tic-tacs ever again.

Posted by phineas g. at 08:47 PM on January 02, 2006 | TrackBack

He got what he had comin'. Pure and simple.

Brilliant Phin, just brilliant. (making mental note to stay at LEAST 3 ft away if ever given opportunity to meet said blogger)

Posted by: Tammi at January 3, 2006 07:51 AM

You know the old saying fight fire with fire... I guess fighting noxious odor with noxious odor would work too.

Posted by: Contagion at January 3, 2006 08:31 AM

HA! I hate it when people invade my space like that! You got him back good. I have no idea how you managed to not laugh.

Posted by: Theresa at January 3, 2006 09:31 AM

I can't stand close talkers either but I'm a bit more direct about it. First step is increase the space. If the gap is closed again the second step is to point out that the person is too close and request they back up. If the space is not then respected I'll just gently push the person to arm's length and say "This is as close as you need to be. Really."

I started doing this around the time I turned 30. I realized that life is too short to be indirect with rude bastards.

Posted by: Jim at January 3, 2006 10:34 AM

I'd say you won the fight.

Posted by: Victor at January 3, 2006 01:46 PM

That was so damn funny that I'm trying to laugh silently so the people in the conference room across the hall can't hear me. It is very hard.

Posted by: RP at January 3, 2006 02:51 PM


The parachute story is more truth than you know and there is an absolute truth to the moral of the story. Take it from someone who began jumping out of planes at 17 ½, has his three required static line jumps, and quit jumping after 501 freefall jumps.

The wife would no longer come to the competition jumps and within those jumps had to use my emergency pack only three times although the last one I may or may not have had to use it. The last jump was picture perfect but I just wanted to get in that one jump over the 500 mark.

Before going, I will remark that in all my time of jumping I witnessed many a more experienced jumper get complacent about repacking his/her chute after a previous jump or not performing the necessary pre-jump inspection of their equipment along with a buddy inspection.

Posted by: Edd at January 3, 2006 08:18 PM


SORRY on the above comment really. I had too many windows open at the same time and meant to comment on your site and Dash's, "The Boiling Point."

I do not like my personal space invaded also and you have taught me the perfect weapon - thanks.

Posted by: Edd at January 3, 2006 08:24 PM

Wow - it's like deja vu all over again.

Yeah, other things you can do with Mr. Space Invader are 1. Sneezing, 2. Coughing, 3. Vomiting. That last one is a little harder to do on command without the telltale finger down the throat. That's why I always carry a small picture of Hillary with me - for emergencies just like that.

Posted by: Dash at January 3, 2006 10:53 PM

Bwhah!! I call it being "in my bubble," and given my current condition: a) the bubble is considerably larger and b) I have an ample supply of your particular weapon of choice.

I LOVE IT! You GO, boy!

[Also guffawing at Dash's comment.]

Posted by: Margi at January 4, 2006 01:33 AM

ROTFL! Wish I could fart on command because that is hilarious. The things I could do to my boys (and blame on them). Thanks for the laugh.

Posted by: vw bug at January 4, 2006 07:06 AM