PROXIMITY MAN

"Nice dog," I observed as we swung into a parking space. "What is it, Spaniel or something?"

“Labradoodle," came the correction from the dog experts in the back.

"Oh. Nice though."

The dog was emptying itself from the car in front of ours, controlled by the smallest and palest of three children who, in turn, were controlled by a couple who looked like they too were on the way back from a relaxing self-catering holiday in an idyllic corner of Scotland, i.e. tense and irritable.

"Look, a Rab like yours,” I remarked to my wife as an identical coat to hers slid out from behind the passenger door opposite. "They’re always blue aren’t they. Wish you’d got a red one?" Her response came in a physical rather than verbal form, and gave a strong indication I should let the matter rest.

The driver was one of those guys who has chosen to stave off hair loss by shaving his head completely. Making him look not only bald, but incredibly tough. He wore multiple layers of hi-tech clothing chosen no doubt for maximum performance at the limit of human endurance atop the Cuillin Ridge. Or spending ten hours in a Renault Scenic with three children who’d rather be at Centre Parcs. And a Spaniel. Sorry, Dabraloodle. 

But here’s the thing. It turned out that while all this was going on, I was doing something miraculous. Because, as we disembarked and headed for the cafe, the driver come up to me and said:

“Pretty good judgement there. There’s about a millimetre between our cars.”

In retrospect, I think how you respond to an observation like this depends on what kind of a man you are. If like me you’re a paranoid softie who instinctively feels that other men - particularly ones that look like an outdoor version of Grant Mitchell - would like to punch you in the face, then you take this as an ever-so-thinly veiled threat, along the lines of:

"You are witless, incompetent and spawny bastard who has come within a whisker of hitting my car and consequently being pummelled into something suitable only for being licked up by my Badraloodle. So close in fact that I might do it anyway." 

Reduced instantly to a quivering fool I apologised profusely and pathetically, while crouching down to make the all-important measurement. He was right. You could even argue they were touching. In the heat of the moment I became confused about when contact becomes impact and, unsure whether I’d done anything wrong, staring blurting incoherently about exchanging insurance numbers. At which point my wife stepped in and pulled me away towards the refreshment shack. 

The other family followed at a distance and positioned themselves at a table near ours.  We sat and ate our fish and chips. And as the Poodradable looked on and dribbled I took stock of what had occurred and a transformation began to take place. What if I was the other kind of man? The kind of man who would have taken that comment as a compliment:

“Major respect. You are a far greater driver than I and have made me painfully aware of my failings both as a car operator and a man. I kneel before your manhood and will fantasise about being you from now on."

It occurred to me that old baldy over there didn’t actually know what kind of man I was. So I could still be the other kind. The right kind. But a really modest version who wasn’t above making himself appear a bumbling fool to save the other guy from feeling too inferior. 

At that point I needed to go across and get some paper napkins, so decided to be that kind of man on the way there. And on the way back. I adopted a confident swagger, steering spine tinglingly close to a number of tables without actually touching them. I could feel him watching. I could feel waves of male competitiveness radiating between us as I metamorphosed into the car parking equivalent of Ant Man. A supreme being who had dispensed with the idea of superfluous space, who could position himself or any vehicle in his charge infinitesimally close to any other. Yes, Performance-Gear-Wearing-Padradoople-Owner, I did it on purpose. I who have conquered the laws of spatial division. I who inhabit a world of acute contiguity. Not Scared-of-Being-Punched-in-the-Face Man. Proximity Man.

I gathered our empty plates together onto an unfeasibly small tray and paid the bill. He looked on admiringly as I led the family out of the cafe with the upmost precision and selected the shortest route possible through the car park back to the car.

"Careful with your doors", we instructed the kids as we clambered back in. Mine of course missed next door’s wing mirror by a mile. Well, a tenth of a micron to be exact...

I wondered how my powers might be put to work for the good of mankind. In an over-crowded world super-proximity is surely the way to go. Imagine how many more cars we could get on the road if we really did drive bumper to bumper? How many more houses we could build if we built back-to-back, and front-to-front too? And how many people we could get in them if we didn’t worry so much about spacing them out. Imagine how much more space there’d be if we didn’t bother putting gaps between things...

“Jes, just make sure you’re in reverse!”

“Oh yeah. Good point.”

Proximity Man gets to work in New Delhi

For more super hero adventures check out Guitar Shop Man

@jesoverthinksit