Let's talk about space - mine.
People stand too close to me. People in a snoburbia movie theater line jostle me or brush against my coat. I hate that. Or they stand one foot away when speaking.
But I have just figured it out. It's not them, it's me - and where I'm from.
I noticed, when recently visiting my Appalachian hometown, that a couple awkwardly hugged the other side of the Walmart toy aisle and said, "Excuse me!" as they passed by - four feet away - turning sideways, as if they were encroaching on sovereign territory and must ask for admittance. In my hometown, people a table's width away from you beg your pardon as they pass. Perhaps this prevented violence in the not-so-distant past.
But in snoburbia, apparently, your personal space bubble is defined by shoulders, not by elbows - or the end of your shotgun.