There’s a difference between someone who talks too much and someone who sets off alarms. The former drains you while the latter tightens something in your chest and has your Spidey-sense tingling.
A lady a few years older than me walked into the hangout mid-Friday afternoon. I was taking the afternoon off for the long weekend and she attached herself to the nearest available person – me – at the bar-like counter with a velocity that bypassed normal social sequencing. There was no easing in, just a deep dive on her part. Just questions. Immediate and personal.
At first, I tried to normalize it. Some people overshare, while some don’t read cues.
Then the questions shifted. “Do you live in town?” Fine. “What’s your address?” Not fine. “Do you live alone?” ?????
That’s when the air changed. There are questions that belong in a gradual conversation. There are questions that don’t belong anywhere near a stranger. When someone asks for your address within minutes of meeting you, it isn’t curiosity. It’s boundary collapse and even threatening. And as the questions escalated, so did the proximity. I was on the seat closest to the wall – one of those corner spots that feels comfortable until it doesn’t. She kept inching forward. Chair scraping as she moved one chair closer every few seconds. Suddenly, she was less than a foot away, deep in my personal space. With the wall behind me, there was nowhere to lean back without making it obvious.
Your nervous system does a quiet scan: exits, distance, obstacles. It calculates before your brain finishes forming sentences. I became aware of how little physical space I had left. It mattered. Her eyes moved differently, too. Not just eye contact. She was scanning, evaluating, and lingering too long. The conversation wasn’t reciprocal. It was an extraction and I told her to move a couple of seats away because I felt crowded (and uneasy). Even if she were the most gorgeous woman on earth, I would have told her to back it up.
When she asked my name, I instinctively gave her a false first name and no last name – but I had one prepared just in case. She left soon after, and even the staff commented on the strange encounter, saying she had creeped them out.
Later, I remembered reading that the average person unknowingly encounters a dozen or more murderers in their lifetime. Who knows if that number is even accurate. It doesn’t matter. The point isn’t that she was dangerous. The point is that statistically, not everyone who makes you uncomfortable is harmless.
johnberkovich.com 