Space Invaders

One of the things about living in Asia (or at least in the two Asian countries I've called home for a time) is that the idea of personal space either doesn't exist or if it does, means something so entirely different than it does for an American, that the comparison lacks validity. And it's no wonder: most locals live in government housing units called HDBs, postage stamp condos in various twenty story buildings strewn hither and yon, for as far as the eye can see. When there are a zillion folks running around on land the size of Orange County, space is a luxury no one dares dream of.

On a daily basis, walking down any street I am first annoyed by slow walkers, which everyone here is, perhaps made lazy by the heat, and next I am annoyed by the constant bumping into me that endlessly occurs. In order to avoid such, I do a hip hopping skippy thing, quite tiring, to avoid plowing. But folks will walk three to five spread across the sidewalk, as if their sole existence rests on the fact that they can shove you into the dirt. I don't see other groups of people collide on a regular basis, so I am confused as to why I am constantly rammed into if I don't jump aside in time. On most days I have a good attitude about being constantly bulldozed over by droves of pedestrians, figuring that since I'm a visitor here, I should just playalong. But on some days when I'm just not in the mood, I have a hard time being polite. On one such day, I conducted a little experiment for myself. I decided that as a matter of point, I would walk in a straight line, and no matter who or what came toward me, I wouldn't defer from my chosen path. Keeping eye contact, I was amazed, AMAZED, that folks still just rammed directly into me.

Next I decided not to make eye contact, to act as if I were preoccupied. Still, constantly, I was directly run into by myriad dimwitted jackasses hell bent on exhibiting rat-like stupidity. Now again, I don't see groups of folks collide, so it is a mystery to me, why I seem to be a magnet for careless walkers. Perhaps due to PMS, or perhaps due to general bitchiness and an overall bad attitude, I've adopted a new walking strategy. Now, I square my arm, and pity the poor asshole who walks into me. On more than several occasions I have caused enough harm to warrant a loud and pathetic "Yeow!" but the best was when one dumb bitch actually landed on her ass. For that one, I turned around and asked her, from her recline on the pavement, what the hell she was doing walking into me?  No answer. Heh! Maybe they really just cant help it.

Perhaps my greatest achievement in sidewalk vigilantism was the day I took my guitar to be tuned. Musically uninclined as I am, I had been using my electric tuner to tune every string to E - I'd forgotten to switch for each new string and didn't discover my mistake until the entire thing was shot to hell and "Leaving on a Jet Plane" resembled "Stairway to Heaven" performed by Gregorian chanters. Not pretty. Linus (yeah right, that's his real name) chastised my stupidity and then, after impressing the hell out of me with his rendition of Brittany Spears "Baby Baby", noted my batting  eyes, tuned my guitar at no charge and offered free lessons. If music be the fruit of love, go home.

But that's not the story.

Guitar in hard case wielded like a huge phallus, protruding weapon before me, I separated the oncoming traffic, a would be modern day Moses, with a smug grin and the knowledge that today, offenders would be clocked in the privates at 20 miles an hour if they messed with me. Needless to say, no one "accidentally" walked into me. Hmmm, now isn't that interesting?

Walk in Peace.