8 Maltese People Who Forget Personal Space Is A Thing
As temperatures continue to rise, why are there still so many people who insist on getting as close as possible? Here are the eight worst offenders.
1. The Touch Talkers
I can comprehend how compelling your story is, even without you grabbing my arm every five seconds.
2. The Fat Pokers
I don’t care how hilarious you thought your joke was, please refrain from prodding my belly while cackling at your zinger.
3. The Up-Your-Butt Ladder User
With then exception of an “everyone out of the water, seaweed touched my toes and I thought it was a jellyfish” emergency, no one should climb the ladder out of the sea while you’re still on it.
All it achieves is a very embarrassing encounter with your butt-water dripping down onto the person below you’s face.
4. The Clueless Queuers
Please don’t stand right behind me at the bank. I haven’t got millions to steal, but I’ll still spend a whole day opening and closing my wallet to check my cards are still there.
Also, if we’re at a supermarket, please avoid piling on unnecessary anxiety by piling your items over the tiny divider provided by the shop. I’d rather not worry about having to pay for your tumbling gbejniet.
5. The Seat-Makers
I’m sure my thigh is a lot more comfortable than this bench we’re sharing, but if you could kindly avoid sitting directly on me, I’d be so grateful.
Just to make the whole situation infinitely worse, they usually do this while the whole area is full of available seats.
6. The Bar Jazz Hands
If I’m standing at the bar, waiting to order a drink, please don’t try to slip into the two millimeter gap closest to me. I’d also appreciate if you didn’t wave your hands in front of my face to get the bartender’s attention (and skip me in the process.
7. The Toilet Detective
Not sure what you’re hoping to discover, but I’d relieve myself with a lot less stress if I didn’t know you were waiting right outside the cubicle door, listening to any and all possible happenings.
8. The Poison Dragons
When I wake up in the morning, I’m acutely aware that if I were to breathe on a vase of flowers, they’d wilt in a cartoonish flurry. So how the hell do people not realise their breath smells worse than a pjazza post-festa, and why are they always the ones to come the closest to your face to speak?
