My friend and I walked to a nearby coffee shop one night. The temperature that day had been pleasant (in Canadian terms, that means it was a warm 2 degrees Celsius during the day but had dropped to around minus 4 degrees in the evening). Upon our return to his condo lobby, we waited for the elevator; when it opened, there were three women, early to mid-twenties, and one man, shout, stout, nose stud (strange detail to notice). In any case, my friend and I casually continued our conversation, as we stepped inside the mobile room.
As the door closed, my friend stepped aside, “Oh! I’m sorry,” he said to the guy behind him, “did I step on you?”
“No, bro,” he rolled his eyes, “you were in my space,” he snipped. His posture became a closed and protective one. He put his hands in his pockets, had a listless stare toward his right (at the elevator wall). His foot silently shuffled backward.
“Oh, yeah, I’m a big guy,” my friend quipped to defuse him.
“Yeah,” I replied, looking away, “elevators are not very spacious, in any case.” He never replied back to us.
I was reminded of a scene in the film Annie Hall, where Woody Allen and Diane Keaton’s characters are standing in line for the movies, and there is a particularly loud-mouthed show off talking about communication theory to his date, but he is loud enough for everyone in the line up to hear. These pseudo-alpha types have a need to prove themselves to complete strangers.