So I’m waiting in line at the cafeteria during my lunch hour (well, more like lunch-10-minutes). There are several ‘bars’ of food choices set up – I was virtuous and went for turkey and steamed broccoli. The line was empty except for the man in front of me, and he was what I refer to as a close talker.
You know the type. If they come up to you to speak, they’re within two feet of your face. They brush up against you when on the walking path (even though there’s plenty of room otherwise). They lean in uncomfortably close, and they proceed to shout in your face. Or stare at your boobs (though guys might not have this problem). They're in your face so much that you can feel their breath touching your face, or (in really bad situations), the spit from when they are talking.
I’ll be honest – close talkers baffle me. Perhaps because I am intensely conscious of other people’s space, or just intensely conscious of others, period. So I don’t understand the mentality. WHY would you invade someone's space like that? I have to assume they don't know better, because the thought of someone doing it on purpose is a little, well, creepy.
This particular guy was leaning over the buffet windows to talk to the employee there. “I want the turkey,” he told her, and leaned his arm OVER the buffet windows so he could point at it (because, you know, no one can point at something on the other side of glass. Sigh). The woman takes a step back (and so do I) and he continues to wave his hand on the other side of the glass, pointing out his vegetables. “I really like carrots,” he tells her, and he’s so close to the glass that I can see his breath fogging on it.
(Dude, that’s when you know you’re too close. Really.)
Anyway. He takes his lunch and disappears off into the cafeteria wilds, but I’m left wondering…how exactly does one become a close-talker? Is it in your genetics? Originally I thought he might be hard of hearing, but I’m half deaf (no lie) and while I talk loudly, I don’t close-talk. So that can't be it every time. Are these people just born without a sense of space? Missing their conjoined twins? Or do they grow up in confined areas and thus don’t know how to use the full sidewalk?
(I momentarily have a vision of children being raised in rows of cages, much like puppy mills. Close-talker mills?)
At any rate, I just thought this was a bit of weirdness I could share. That, and I’m probably going to put a close-talker in my next book. Just because it’s uncomfortable for my heroine. 
Anyone have any bizarre quirks they've added to a book after seeing someone exhibit it in person?
