We Americans like our space. Our country developed upon the promise of space, as our land, it seemed, went on forever.  We like to stretch out, stake a claim, spread wide, stretch our legs.

Sometimes, though, we need reminders that we need to give each other more space, back off, skooch over, step away.  We have signs and lines and ropes declaring that patrons “wait here” in order to give privacy to those ahead of us.  At the bank.  At the library.  At the DMV.  At our old Blockbuster Video.

But not, apparently, at Redbox video machines.  And those side “Quick Return” slots beckon–they tempt us to cross over, to invade, to step up, to skooch in.

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And I am not a fan of strangers skooching in on my personal space.

The other day, in my local Walgreens as I tapped the Redbox screen to choose The Descendants, I jumped when a man suddenly stepped toward the “Quick Return” slot at my elbow, literally almost on my elbow.  Seriously, I could have touched him with my elbow.

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