Personal Space, Much?

I'm a nurse. I've accepted the fact that there are more than a bajillion germs lurking on just about every square inch of public surface. I carry a bottle of hand sanitizer in just about every purse/tote/clutch that I own. I wash my hands constantly- so much that "dry, winter skin" is a year-round issue for my hands. I also understand that I don't live in a bubble and I cannot expect everyone on earth to be as thoughtful and antiseptic as I am. Bummer.




Enter: The germy, cough-y, sneezy petri dish of a gentleman who stood behind me in line at CVS this weekend. Who clearly didn't have a clue as to the meaning of "personal space." Much less how to respect someone else's.




Not only could I feel the spittle landing on the back of my neck with each warm, snotty, phlegmy breath he took, but I swear I could almost feel the itchy fibers of his wool sweater vest on the backs of my bare arms.




Have I totally creeped you out? Apologies. But seriously, what was this guy thinking? What did I do? I simply stepped out of line and turned my "I just have to run into CVS for some Tums" trip into a "I'll take those Tums and let's just take a gander down the pretty hair product aisle because you know I'm a huge sucker for fancy packaging and the newest spray/moose/gel/creme product that's come out onto the market" trip. You know, with a side of "Do you happen to carry any Haz-Mat suits in a size 2?"