Monday, March 18, 2013

Stop Touching Me: Butt really, stop

Part 1

This is the internet, so I can assume that to a lot of you out there, many forms of contact is just terrifying. What I'd like to address is the idea of strangers touching you.

For some reason, the universe decided recently that it wants me to feel as uncomfortable as possible.  To do this, it made sure that a great majority of people have been touching me recently.  No, not inappropriately, just touching me.

In a restaurant hallway, I mistakenly moved into the path of a man picking up his take-out order and he place his hand on my shoulder and moved me out of the way.  This was accompanied by a, "Woah, bud." due to the fact that it looked like I purposefully jumped in front of him to impede his path.  Because, you know, I do that.

Last week I attended an LDS church meeting.  It happens that this is a place where all manner of people feel obligated to hold onto your shoulder like a dolphin holds onto a trainer as it forces them under the water.

An old man shakes your hand for just too long.

That woman hugs you but just keeps continuing the conversation.

I'm sorry I don't want to join your gym.  Holding onto my shoulder and looking me in the eyes with a steely glint is not going to change that.

These people.  These ones right here: You hurt me.

She wants you to stop too.
You people that I might know a little or don't know at all, you hurt me on the inside.  In my mind, I have not taken down that Berlin wall that makes it OK for you to physically touch me.  I'm sure you can see it when my eye twitches and then I fall onto the ground writhing in a pool of my own vomit.  Haven't you realized by now that there are boundaries?

It would be like me coming into your house and drinking the milk from the carton.  "But I thought we were this close?" I'd say as the milk dribbled from my chin onto my shirt. "WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE AT 3AM!" They'd say.  And then you get a restraining order followed by a custody battle over the milk.  Ugh, this is what you get for me just trying to be comfortable with you touchers.

I know a lot of you are thinking that I'm being irrational and that physical contact in this manner is supposed to be inviting.  Yes, inviting me to never call you again.  In my head, there is a fine definition between who can touch me and who cannot:

People who can: Close friends, family, Ryan Gosling

People who shouldn't: Everyone else.

But no, all you people think that it will be OK to force me out of my comfort zone and into full on scale assault with your sweaty palms.  Where have those been anyway?  Because I SURE AS HELL DON'T KNOW. Maybe you should be more considerate and stop spreading all your contaminents onto my flesh.

Why is this OK? For some reason, the world keeps allowing you people to go unrestrained from person to person making all of us cringe.  Maybe you heard that this will make someone think you're personable.  Well, it makes me think that you're personally institutional.  I would much rather you express your greetings through spoken word, an edible arrangement, or a box of puppies.  Scratch that, can the edible arrangement be made out of pizza?

Just picture this: you pick up a slimy, slimy cat.  You like it, because it's a cat, but you can only hold on for so long because it's slimy.  That feeling is how I feel when your greasy stubs touch me.  I can only hold out for so long before my heart palpitations come back.

So before you touch someone, think about how they might feel on the inside.  Mostly, just stop touching me, because on the inside, I'm crying.  Laying on the floor, and sobbing.