Personal Space, It's A Personal Thing

Before Lauren & Christopher packed up their belongings and headed off to Korea, their liaison attempted to explain some of the cultural differences they would experience.  "Be prepared to have your personal space invaded every day. The Koreans have no such thing as personal space the way Americans do."

The first week in Seoul, they began to grasp what this meant.  While waiting to check out of the Apple Store, other customers began cutting in front of them, as if they were invisible.  It was then they remembered advice given earlier: "if your body isn't touching the person in front of you, the Koreans won't think you are actually standing in line."  They quickly cozied up to their Korean neighbors.

I am not unlike most Americans.  I need personal space.  I've joked before that an airplane is the only place I would willingly choose to sit so close to a perfect stranger.  With only an armrest between you, random body parts of other passengers frequently cross over the imaginary line that runs between the seats.  I try to become inwardly smaller, tucking my arms in my lap-especially when sitting in the middle seat.  I assume my seatmates have the same need for space.  I am acutely aware of where my space begins and ends.  I am not a touchy-feely kind of person.  I don't want to sit so that we constantly brush up against one another.

Have I mentioned how much I love Southwest Airlines?  I'm free to move about the country, free to choose my own seat.  When a flight is full, as most are, it doesn't much matter.  Occasionally, the plane is only half full, and it is delightful to freely move about in my seat.  My last flight with Southwest Airlines was delightful.

I recognized right away this would be one of those free to move about flights.  Having forgotten to check in 24 hours ahead, I figured I'd be one of the last to board.  I was, but I still managed a Group A board pass.  There was no Group B or C.  I was excited. Rather than grab a coveted aisle seat, I chose a window.  Knowing I wouldn't have anyone next to me, I thought I'd snap a few pictures from my luxurious seat.

I picked a spot half-way back in the plane.  I should have gone to an empty row, but instead squeezed past a gentleman in the aisle seat.  I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture. 

I was rather enjoying myself until I noticed a woman pushing her way into our row.  The flight attendant noticed her also.  "This flight is only about 60 percent full.  You can sit anywhere you want.  Take an aisle seat, or a window in any row.  You don't have to sit next to anybody."  I expected the woman to heed the flight attendant's advice.  Instead, she plopped herself right in the middle seat.  I immediately felt encroached upon.

I hesitated for only a moment, before gathering my belongings.  "Excuse me," I said, "I'm going to sit elsewhere." 

She reached over, touched my arm and tried to reassure me, "I'm a nice person, really I am."  It was hard enough to maneuver around two passengers without her trying to hold me back. 

"I want an aisle seat," I lied.  But truthfully, I just wanted any seat where I didn't have to be touching anyone.

"You won't even give me a chance?"  Her desperate last attempt, before releasing my arm.  I am free to move about the cabin, lady....and I did.  Seat 17C, on the aisle, 2 rows back.  The entire row to myself.

I couldn't help but notice how this woman leaned into the gentleman for the duration of the flight.  I surmised that she was most certainly a touchy-feely person; probably afraid to fly.  She needed to be touching the people next to her in order to feel secure.  I, on the other hand, needed my personal space. It's a personal thing.  I couldn't help but wonder about the poor man I left behind.  Maybe the two of them liked becoming more personal.