Personal space matters. Especially in line. Especially when you’re at the grocery store, minding your own business, trying to keep it together in a world that already feels like it’s on fast-forward. In North America, personal space is considered 18 inches to four feet.
So why do certain people feel the need to stand inches behind you at the checkout? Not a respectful three-foot gap. No. These are the people whose breath you can feel on your neck. The ones who get so close, you start to wonder if you accidentally got married in the produce section, and they are coming home with you.
I’m talking about the Checkout Line Invaders. The people who treat the express lane like it’s a full-contact sport. They inch forward every time you blink. You move a few inches to create some space and they’re practically climbing into it. You take out your wallet and suddenly, they’re right behind you, looking at what credit cards you have and the contents of your wallet.
This is not about being antisocial, overly sensitive, or grumpy. This is about basic courtesy and respect. The same kind you give when you’re driving and don’t tailgate. The same kind you (hopefully) show when someone’s having a quiet moment and you don’t blast music beside them. It’s about space.
What exactly do these people think will happen by standing so close? Are they hoping I might abandon my groceries and flee, and they’ll get to jump ahead? Are they hoping proximity will make the line go faster? Do they think my bag of apples will magically check itself out if they apply pressure?
Some will say, “Oh, come on, what’s the big deal?” And to that I say: try doing this in reverse. Stand inches behind them. Breathe just a bit louder than necessary and maybe cough some. Watch how fast they glance over their shoulder or try to increase the space. Because it’s usually the ones who crowd who hate being crowded back.
Remember the pandemic era? Remember that beautiful time when floor stickers told people where to stand? When space was enforced? When we all had a common agreement that six feet wasn’t just a measurement—it was bliss? I miss that. Not the fear, masks, or lockdowns, but the mutual understanding that crowding a stranger was just plain rude.
It’s even worse when it happens during a stressful day. You’re tired. You’ve worked. Maybe your back hurts, and you didn’t sleep well last night. You just want to get in and out and not feel like you’re being hunted through the checkout jungle. But there they are; so close you’re basically sharing a vegetable tray. If you’re one of these people—and maybe you don’t realize it—take this as your gentle (okay, not-so-gentle) nudge: back it up. Give it space. The five seconds you might “save” by inching forward aren’t worth the social anxiety you’re creating.
To those who respect space? Thank you. You get it. You are the heroes of the checkout line. You make the world a slightly more breathable place. And to the rest? Next time, if you’re that eager to get through the line, try self-checkout. It’s faster, there’s no one in front of you, and you won’t have to breathe down anyone’s neck but your own.
John Berkovich Talks 