Three Weird Ways Boundaries Are Crossed That Don’t Seem Like a Big Deal (But Are a Really BFD)

The true intention of boundaries is to help the people around you know what you’re comfortable with and how you want to be treated. Boundaries seem very simple on the surface, but they’re not. They’re subjective and deeply personal. What makes one person want to punch someone in the gut, may go completely unnoticed by another.  

And in my experience, when someone has applied their own or someone else’s boundaries to me, I’m gonna get pissy. I don’t think my boundaries are particularly niche. However, I’ve found three personal borders get crossed more often than not. 

Don’t Touch My Luggage   

Many people probably love getting help with their luggage. I don’t. I realize this is a “Me” problem. Blame it on some emotional negligence during my childhood. Or maybe blame it on being disappointed by people I thought I could count on. Whatever the reason, I’ve learned to handle my shit including my baggage (both emotional and actual). My hyper-independence is problematic… And itt’s also problem-solving! 

On my first trip to London, I had an issue to sort out as I got ready to leave the hotel: How was I going to get a suitcase, a backpack, a duffel bag, five Harrod’s shopping bags laden with designer goods (two of which contained heavy crystal caviar sets), and two cooler bags overflowing with catering from my fourth-floor hotel room down to the van waiting outside? Plus I had my purse to keep track of. A luggage cart would’ve been a convenient solution but it wasn’t an option.

“Hello. Would it be possible to get a luggage cart, please?” I asked the man at the front desk.

“Pardon, miss?” The man gave me a quizzical look.

“You know a luggage cart?” He didn’t know. We both spoke English but it wasn’t the same English. “Like a cart, you put luggage on to get from the room down to the lobby,” I added some arm motions and miming to help with my translation.

“Oh! You mean a trolley, miss?” 

“Yes, sure. A trolley, please.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, miss. Guests aren’t allowed trolleys.” 

Now I was the confused one. “Why?”

“Guests aren’t allowed trolleys. Someone will have to bring it up to you.” 

I looked around the hotel lobby. It was five in the morning. There was nobody else around. “Do you have someone available?”

“I’ll put a call out. What time do you need the trolley?” 

“Now.” I was supposed to be meeting my pilots in five minutes. My American impatience was getting the best of me.

“It’ll be about 15 minutes or so, miss.” 

“Nevermind. I’ll figure it out. Thanks.” I turned away and beelined back to the pile of bags in my room. Although there were a lot of bags, none of them were particularly heavy, just awkward. I decided to pack mule it. To accomplish this feat takes precision. 

My arms were completely ladened, and I dragged my suitcase with the duffel bag precariously balanced on top. Each bag was added in a specific order based on the weight and fragility of the contents. I positioned everything just so as to keep one of my hands free for door handles and button pushing. When I arrived in the hotel lobby, three bellhops, who were nowhere to be found moments ago, descended on me. 

“Allow me, madam.”

“No, I’m —”

“If you please, miss.” No! I don’t fucking please.

“Wait, that bag has  —”

“We don’t allow guests to have trolleys.”  

“Sto —”

All the bags were ripped from my arms and hands. Items began to slip out as the delicate weight and balance I created was violently disrupted. The bellhops grabbed fallen objects and shoved them back into bags willy-nilly (messing up my organization also pisses me off which I’m sure is shocking to you). They ferried my things into the van without allowing me to complete a single sentence. I took a deep breath through a clenched jaw which was holding back a torrent of swear words. I marched to the van, giving only a curt nod to the bellhops as I passed. I reached for my phone.

“Fucking A!”

In all the bag snatching, my phone had gotten jumbled around and was nowhere to be found. After five minutes of searching through bags in the dark, I recovered it from the depths of a shopping bag. I was beyond irritated.

I hate when people grab my bags without asking. I get the intention is to be helpful. More often than not, the person’s job is to help people with their luggage. Or there’s a polite gentleman who was raised right and doesn’t like to see a lady lift her suitcase into the overhead bin (chivalry isn’t dead nor should it die, but it can be a little trickier nowadays). However, if that bag is on my arm or in my hand, it’s more like an extension of my physical body rather than a separate object. You don’t snatch things off someone's body. 

Which brings me to the next point… 

Don’t Put That There 

Just like you don’t go grabbing within someone’s physical space, you don’t put things in their bubble either. And I’m not talking about luggage here. One time during sex, the guy spit in my mouth. And mind you it was our first time having sex (spoiler alert: it was our last time, too). 

Damn, you just went for it.

I was a little too shell-shocked to say anything at the moment. No one had ever spit in my mouth before. It wasn’t as gross as it sounds. The whole experience was weird and confusing. Kinda like seeing The Pissing Statue in Brussels. Online, it seems like a ~thing~. A larger-than-life stone sculpture of a child relieving himself in a metaphorical pool sure to inspire the innocent whimsy of your inner child. You arrive at the statue only to find it’s a one-foot fountain of a weirdly ripped toddler (the biceps and pecs carved on this kid are excessive).  Your view is obscured by the throngs of tourists jockeying for position to capture the best IG post. Instead of inspiration, you’re left with a “Huh, that’s all?” Spitting in my mouth is the Brussels Pissing statue to me. At least it was my choice to go see the whizzing kid. 

My next lack of consent experience was much worse. The dude came on my face. There was no discussion, no warning. We’re having a good time (sort of). The next thing I know I’m squinting my eyes like I’m staring into the sun. The warmth upon my face was nothing like the comfort of sunshine. Even though I’m in my late 30s, this was also a first experience for me. A few guys I dated requested the honor but I said no. Since this particular brand of facial kept coming up, I figured there was something to it I wasn’t getting. So I asked a guy friend.

“Why do you want to do that? It seems gross and kinda mean to me.” 

“Because it’s so dirty and nasty it’s hot,” my friend explained. 

Despite the ineloquence of his bro explanation, it did help me understand. Submission is hot, particularly from a woman to a man, but for it to be healthy and fun for both parties, trust is crucial. Kinks without consent are straight-up demeaning. This is why I decided a cum facial was something I would only do within the safe space of a relationship with a committed partner. I was annoyed the “romantic” milestone was taken away from me. Rude af. I decided never to see that guy again either. 

In both these instances, I didn’t say no but I wasn’t allowed to say yes either. I’m reminded of an episode of Netflix’s Sex Education. In case you don’t know, the show is about a high school student, Otis, who runs a sex therapy clinic on campus, using what he’s learned from his mum’s sex therapy practice. In one episode, his friend, Jackson, confides that he had a finger up the bum — uninvited, and he felt weird about it. Otis explained why. Jackson and his partner lacked ‘enthusiastic consent,’ “which is looking for the presence of a happy yes, rather than the absence of an unhappy no.” 

Make sure you get the happy yes before you do something that’s an uncomfortable no for your partner.

Please Don’t Include Me in Your Bad Day  

Everyone needs a safe space to vent and express themselves. However, anyone and everyone is not the right audience, especially if you're in a work scenario. Oddly enough, for whatever reason, in my experience, a coworker always seems to do this. Like Faith. 

I was on my first flight with a new charter company. I felt excited, nervous, and eager to make a good impression. Faith, the co-pilot, stepped onto the jet so I went to introduce myself.

“Hi, I’m -”

“OH MY GOD” Faith used a big outdoor voice. I jumped back from her in surprise. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been dealing with! This has been the rotation from hell.” Faith spoke with an unstoppable passion and fury. She ranted for the next five minutes about another pilot and talked mad shit about the company. 

I nodded sympathetically and threw in some “oh, wow” and “for real?” at the appropriate spots in her tirade. Mostly I endured. I was so put off by her. Who just unloads on someone they don’t even know? Particularly, a new coworker. I didn’t like it at all. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

In between flights, Faith made her way back to the galley. With leftover catering, I made her a smoked salmon bagel. She took her first bite.

“This is so good!” She gave me an appreciative smile and her shoulders relaxed. She seemed much calmer.

“Awesome!” I sighed with relief. Maybe she just needed to blow off a little steam. She’s not that bad. She was just worked up.

I was wrong. Faith dove right into rehashing her entire rant. It was worse this time. Her mouth was full of half-masticated salmon bits, cream cheese oozed between molars, and bagel hunks floated adrift in her orifice. All the compassion I had mustered up evaporated. Her aura of negativity overtook me, accented by the stink of smoked fish wafting from her mouth. 

Everyone has crappy days and needs to get things off their chest. For fuck’s sake, pick the right audience, and don’t EVER do it with a mouthful of food. 

How do you figure out a person’s boundaries?

Knowing someone’s boundaries upon a first meeting is impossible.  You can still get it wrong even if you’re intuitive and great at reading people. People are beyond weird and have so many quirks. Don’t set yourself up for failure by making assumptions. The best way to understand another’s boundaries is to ask AND listen.

“May I help you with our luggage?”

“Would you like it if I [insert kink]?”

“I’m having a bad day. Is it cool if I vent to you?”

Some may argue asking these questions would feel weird and awkward but is the trial and error approach to boundaries less cringe? I think not. That being said, the unfortunate reality is most people probably won’t be asking. What do you do when someone crosses one of your boundaries? Don’t hesitate to speak up! You don’t deserve to have your mouth spit in! Unless, you’re into that… which is cool, too. After all, boundaries are very personal.