The Protocol of Living

Once again a Friday night demonstrates to me that some people just do not get it. Life has protocol, and as Clint Eastwood would say, there are two kinds of men (or women) in this world. There are those that live and abide by life protocol, and those that just do not get it. Actually, there is a third kind. The kind that simply violate protocol.

Take personal space. There are simple rules regarding it, and rules exist to cater for any and every situation. When walking on the pavement, there is a always an acceptable distance between yourself and those in front on behind. The onus is obviously on those behind behind - you can only see the people in front - the one with the most responsibility is the one at the back!

The acceptable pavement distance is clearly a variable. In a busy town center, with all the noise and bustle and crowded pavements, the acceptable distance is actually extremely small. However when enjoying a romantic chat while walking over, say, Shoreham footbridge, on a quiet evening, the acceptable distance is much greater. You can imagine my frustration when walking over Shoreham footbridge last night, having an in depth chat with my lovely wife, and some chimp is walking right behind us.

Who does that, and why?! I don't understand the mindset, I mean, "Yuh, there's a nice couple in front enjoying a deep and meaningful, I'll walk right up their backsides just to let them know I'm here." Arrgh who are these people, and where do they come from?

The rules are simple. Give those in front the personal space that the situation demands. If they are going too slow, then speed up and overtake. What could be so difficult?

And then there are the neighbours in the flat next to ours. 2am we wake up to thumping music and lots of loud laughter. We bang on the wall. Let's hold that thought. Banging was really the only option. Getting dressed, going downstairs and outside, round to the next block's communal door, and trying to guess which buzzer, before eventually being stabbed by a group of drunken thugs who did not appreciate the intrusion, was not our idea of fun. But banging on the wall is the standard protocol for this kind of situation. It means "too loud, sorry to bother you, but please turn it down (it IS 2am for Pete's sake)".

So how did they respond? Well, not quite in the cultured fashion we were looking for. "Don't knock on the ******* wall.", a whiny voice screamed, "You'll knock the ******* pictures off." The music was turned up further, and we could just make out the whiny "...knocking on my ******* wall" appended to every sentence. I kept my sanity by imaging a group of drunken revellers, ears bleeding, stumbling around the other side of the wall trying to put the pictures back up...