I just wanted to throttle him. Punch him right in his face. Hit him in the stomach.

It wasn’t that his voice was annoyingly high pitched. It wasn’t that his foreign accent made him that difficult to understand. I didn’t even have a problem with him as a human being on any level that others have deemed hate worthy. The reason I wanted this guy in pain was more primal than anything else in the universe.

He was in my space.

I don’t have a large comfort zone. It’s not that I am opposed to receiving a hug from “huggers”. But this guy…It was like he wanted to be wearing my shirt with me. I couldn’t look him in the eye for the entire conversation. I was scared that if I made eye contact, he might misinterpret that and go the full 100, and try to kiss me.

What was going on that he needed to stand so close to me?

I don’t speak softly. I don’t have a strange accent that makes my V’s sound like W’s. I didn’t even put on deodorant this morning.

Thank God, he finally left. I couldn’t take anymore. But he’ll be back.

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