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A FEW years ago, standing in line at a post office in Paris, I made the mistake of glancing briefly at my shoes. In the eye-blink's moment that my attention was diverted, two things happened: One, the person directly in front of me moved forward about 22 inches; and two, the old crone behind me jabbed a bony finger between my shoulder blades, gestured with outraged theatricality at the 22 inches of (now) empty space between me and the person ahead of me, and cried out in exasperated impatience, "Monsieur!"
Because, of course, there were 22 inches of unoccupied space in front of me that I should have been occupying, and the 22 inches of space that I was occupying ...
Source: HighBeam Research, France's rougher, tougher future: not to mention ours.