Week 3: Personal Space

Gather 'round. This week, Uncle Cole is going to be talking about an issue you'll all find very pertinent as the shit pile that is the holiday season begins to reach neck-depth. We'll be covering personal space. Ah yes, personal space. That little bubble that everybody insists on stealing from you.

I seem to have a lot of run-ins with people whose personal space bubble extends no further than the layer of sweat coating their skin. Take the girl I mentioned at the cheeseburger place in Week 1: there I was, peacefully waiting for my 20% meat cheeseburger so I could carry on with my 20% productive day, and she feels the need to come stand about 3 inches to my right even though there's an acre of space to my left. We were the only two waiting for burgers. So I took out my phone, wrote "when people stand too close to me" in the blog topics section of my notes app (which she saw) and took two huge side steps to my left, while glaring at her.

I just don't get it. Do people not understand that their bodies take up space? I don't want to feel your hot breath down my neck or smell the deodorant that you put on 4 days ago. During this magical holiday season, personal space ceases to exist. Going shopping? So is everybody else. I went to the pharmacy the other day, and it was packed. The guy behind me in line was standing so close to me that I thought he might have been trying to steal skin samples. And don't even get me started on mistletoe. The thought of being forced to kiss somebody is vomit-inducing. Whose idea was that? Do they not know that it's flu season? Plus, mistletoe is poisonous. We might as well be kissing under the black widow's web. Nothing like being forced to share an intimate moment with a loved one (or a stranger) because of a toxic plant. 

I think I produce some sort of pheromone that attracts people who have no concept of personal space. Every day is like a nightmare when you're surrounded by people who like to stand or sit too close to you. When I sit down in class and there are 5 seats on either side of me, that's not an invitation to sit next to me. In fact, it's pretty much the opposite. Evidently I need to either stop showering or start wearing a sign that says "DON'T SIT HERE YOU NEANDERTHAL" because nobody can figure that out. There needs to be at least a one seat buffer so I don't have to hear you breathe or smell your "I peaked in high school" body spray. I sit in class just praying that nobody will sit next to me that day.

The absolute worst form of personal space abuse is touching. I am not a hugger. Do I look like a hugger? I have a blog about how much I hate things. Why do people insist on hugging other people all the time. I don't want anybody's body that close to mine. I'm perfectly comfortable over here, saying hello to you at a respectable distance. Being poked is essentially being stabbed by a finger. If you poke me, and you're not in preschool, expect to have a scathing tweet written about you. Actually, preschoolers are not excluded from that. Might as well learn early. And have you ever talked to somebody who seemingly needs to maintain constant contact with you while they talk? It's like they're so used to having people run away during their boring stories that they need to make sure you're still there.

I've found that the best way to deal with these people, as with most people, is to just be very rude. Somebody sits next to you in class when you very clearly have open seats next to you? Get up and shift one seat over. Somebody stands too close to you in line? Make eye contact and step forward. Somebody touches you unnecessarily? Tell them what they've done, do it back, or tweet about them. Any of those would work. Rudeness always gets the point across.

I hope you all have a lovely Christmas/Holiday season, and please don't violate people's personal space.

Week 2: Chubbies

Welcome back. I'm actually surprised that so many of you read last week's post. I was expecting like 10 views and a couple "screw you Cole nobody cares about your thoughts" comments. But I'm back for another week.

This week, I want to touch on an issue that's sweeping across college campuses like influenza. I want to talk about the scraps of multi-colored fabric some men like to wear, called Chubbies. Some of you may be thinking, "Cole, why are you writing about Chubbies now, in mid December?" to those people I say: screw you, write your own blog. If you're not familiar with these "shorts" they're basically girls' shorts marketed to men. The longest ones go to mid-thigh. On full grown men. Who wants to see that? I certainly don't. The first time I saw a human man wearing Chubbies, I thought he was wearing boxers. That's because Chubbies are basically boxers. They even have elastic waistbands. I can't decide if the elastic is more for ease of access (because the wearers tend to be so lazy) or to accommodate the ever-expanding beer guts of the slugs that wear them. 

The problem I have with Chubbies actually isn't the product itself so much as the frame of mind that they've cultivated. Seriously, unless you're a person who wears Chubbies (and why are you reading this blog?), have you ever seen somebody wearing these glorified underpants and thought, "hey, that guy seems like somebody I'd really like to get to know." I know I certainly haven't. Usually my line of thought is closer to, "hey, that guy looks like somebody who goes to class when it works best with his schedule. Also, he has a really punchable face." People that wear Chubbies are douchebags. It's that simple. Is that a generalization? Definitely. Is it deserved? Absolutely.

Here's another thing about Chubbies: people come up with "cute" taglines for reasons to wear them, like "sky's out thighs out." If that's the case, you should wear your lady shorts every day of the year because THE SKY IS ALWAYS OUT. That might be the dumbest slogan I've ever heard. Ok so let's say you've decided that this slogan means if it's cloudy, you shouldn't wear your Chubbies. Scientifically inaccurate, but fair enough. Then please explain this school of rainbow fish, wearing Chubbies on a cloudy day:

Sky's out thighs out? Well yes, because the sky is always out. But good luck getting any sun on your pasty white thighs. Also, little side note, why is that guy wearing an untied bow tie? That's the wardrobe equivalent of driving around with the gas cap hanging off of your car. Don't do that, you'll look like an idiot.

If you want to wander over to the Chubbies website (I don't recommend it) you'll notice that there are no pictures of young professionals wearing their colorful boxer shorts to business meetings. No, the pictures are all of slow-talking morons climbing mountains, on boats, in houses, etc. They don't have people wearing the shorts in their product pictures because that might dissuade you from actually buying them. 

Chubby season is the worst time of the year. Seeing just one overweight, pasty-white man showing off his hairy ass thighs is enough to ruin your whole week. Come late March, I'll be seeing several of those every single day. I know I'm not alone.

I hope you all enjoyed this week's installment, and I hope this is enough to make Chubbies' sales drop by like half a percent for the week.

Good night and good luck.

Week 1: Introduction and Driving in Columbia

Welcome to Cole's Complaints. This is a safe space. My safe space. Here, I will unleash my verbal fury on the world in the form of weekly blog posts. Some of you may know that lots of things bother me. Most would consider those to be "little things." I call those little things "super annoying." I've been documenting things that bother me (not that challenging) over the past week or so, so I should have plenty of material. For example, earlier this week some girl stood way too close to me while I was waiting for a cheeseburger. She then saw me write "when people stand too close to me" on my phone. Sorry I'm not sorry. Maybe she'll learn. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.

For week 1, we'll be talking about the never ending shitshow that is driving in Columbia, South Carolina.

Issue 1: Road quality. Have you ever thought to yourself, "hey, I wonder what this perfectly paved road would look like if it had as many craters as a greasy preteen's face?" Welcome to Columbia. There are so many potholes here. I cracked a wheel because of one. People get flat tires here all the time. I have a friend that has had 3 flat tires within the past year. The other day, I hit a pothole so hard that it set off one of my vertigo episodes. That's not a joke. If you see somebody swerving around on the road, they're probably not drunk. They're probably avoiding the Mariana Trench pothole right in front of them.

Issue 2: The trains. The freaking trains. I grew up in D.C. For those of you that don't know, D.C. is rated as the city with the worst traffic in the country year after year. Here's some proof if you don't believe me: http://fortune.com/2015/08/26/worst-traffic/. I would rather drive in D.C. than deal with the trains in Columbia. I don't know who the genius was that decided to criss-cross the most populated city in the state of South Carolina with train tracks, but I hope they received the worst haircut of their life shortly afterwards. Do you know how long trains are? Usually about a mile long. Do you know how fast they move through cities? Really fucking slow. I have waited 45 minutes behind a train before. I decided to turn around and go home. That's right. I quit that day. I decided not to do that day because of a train.

Issue 3: The people. Everybody, and I mean everybody in Columbia sucks at driving. South Carolina has the second worst drivers in the country, behind only Montana. And boy do I feel bad for the people of Montana. I don't have words for how horrible the drivers are here. I am cut off countless times every day. People run red lights like it's their job. The other day I was sitting next to this guy at a red light. Stopped. Because (brace yourselves) that's what you do at red lights. And then he just went. He consciously pressed the accelerator and drove through a solid red light. This was the middle of the day, in dense traffic. People just do what they want here. You think texting and driving is a problem? I've seen people reading the newspaper and driving. I've never felt so close to death as I have driving in Columbia. And people just don't give a shit. Oh, you drive a brand new BMW with your sorority letters on the back? How long did you have to work to pay for that yourself? You know that person doesn't care because she won't have to pay for anything that happens to her car. Maybe if she didn't have to snapchat her trip to Greek Village for brunch, she wouldn't be cutting me off.

You'll never truly know how much it sucks to drive in Columbia until you experience it yourself. But if you ever do come down here to drive, I suggest you wrap your car in pillows and bubble wrap and stay as far away from sorority letters as you can.

See you next week.