Personal Space, update.

I hadn't tortured a postal clerk with my tres mauvais français (very bad french) in at least a week so I thought I would pop into La Poste and test my linguistic skills. Actually I went to mail a letter to my colocotaires (flatmates) in San Francisco and to track down a package sent to me with the wrong address. This is really going to fun trying to explain this and the fact that the person who sent it didn't write a return address. Don't ask...

Anyways... anticipating the PDA and subsequent showering and close proximity of fellow liner-upers, I donned a very thick jacket and wrapped a scarf around my head. I could pass for muslim if not for the bottle of wine in my flimsy grocery bag revealing my inner-Catholic. Much to my surprise, everyone in line was adhering to the 1-2 foot radius of Personal Space and even the few couples maintained a respectable distance, not morphing into one being. The man behind me wasn't inhaling the scent of my shampoo like a Hoover upright. Perhaps it was just an off day. Whatever the case, I was indeed grateful for it.