This weekend I was having street-side lunch in Mongkok and was entertained by the goings on in the stores and booths around me. I watched several instances when a person would begin to peruse a clothing rack and very quickly another person would join the rack and begin earnestly going through the clothing items just ahead of the original peruser. It was funny to watch the shoppers jockey for position at the rack even though the other racks were available. It didn't seem to matter which rack was being sorted through as this happened on all of the three racks near to the front of the store at different times.
If reminded me of when I used to feed the turtles at the gardens as a child. I would drop some worms into the water and watch the turtles swarm. Then I would drop more worms at another location but the turtles were too busy trying to get the first batch of worms to notice. Eventually another turtle would notice the other section of worms and dart over to begin another frenzy but sometimes it took a few minutes and other times the worms would still be floating around in the water when I became disinterested and wandered off to try and catch the long legged insects that hovered by the water edge.
From my small sample size, it occurs to me that closely crowded animals are wired to compete for resources that they perceive to be attractive based on others' desire for them. If someone wants a certain something, then it must be worth having and you mustn't miss out.
My friend S backed up my observations when she shared with me one of her stories from being a teacher. Last year the second grade teachers arranged for a mock archeological dig at a beach. They planned the trip to occur in the winter during the school week when the beach was mostly deserted. The teachers roped off a large portion of the beach and hid "artifacts" for the students to dig up. A group of beachgoers arrived soon after and walked over to the "dig." S thought that they were just curious onlookers but then they walked over the rope and set up their picnic in the middle of everything. There was nothing she could do, as it was a public beach. It appeared to her that these other people had decided that clearly the best part of the beach would be the part that was occupied by others so naturally parking themselves in the center of the action would guarantee the most prime spot.
Maybe growing up in almost the opposite of density has wired me differently. I am not a fan of herding and I don't know what it would take for me to compete for a resource. I would not survive Survivor. I would not be part of those turtles who climb on top of each other to fight over the worms that the others want. I go out of my way in the opposite direction to push for more personal space. I will scoot away from others who sit next to me.
If I were to turn the lens backward upon myself I would see a neurotically territorial animal with an exaggerated view of the extent of necessary personal space. I probably resemble a small dog to the density dwellers as I tend to subconsciously annex the space around me, urinating on every fire hydrant within the city block.
A few weeks ago my boss decided to place a couple of file boxes for our project on my desk. It made sense to him because his office was cluttered and my desk is remarkably empty. Well, I spend time every week clearing off my desk and electronically filing everything to avoid paper clutter and it was a horrible shock to discover that the space I had so meticulously cleared off was now full of boxes. Just because the space is empty does not mean that I am not using it. I subconsciously stake out that territory! So I have carefully and methodically reorganized shelves in our storage cabinets and moved each box one by one out of my bay. That's right. My space, every empty square millimeter. Maybe I should raise my leg over it next time.
If reminded me of when I used to feed the turtles at the gardens as a child. I would drop some worms into the water and watch the turtles swarm. Then I would drop more worms at another location but the turtles were too busy trying to get the first batch of worms to notice. Eventually another turtle would notice the other section of worms and dart over to begin another frenzy but sometimes it took a few minutes and other times the worms would still be floating around in the water when I became disinterested and wandered off to try and catch the long legged insects that hovered by the water edge.
From my small sample size, it occurs to me that closely crowded animals are wired to compete for resources that they perceive to be attractive based on others' desire for them. If someone wants a certain something, then it must be worth having and you mustn't miss out.
My friend S backed up my observations when she shared with me one of her stories from being a teacher. Last year the second grade teachers arranged for a mock archeological dig at a beach. They planned the trip to occur in the winter during the school week when the beach was mostly deserted. The teachers roped off a large portion of the beach and hid "artifacts" for the students to dig up. A group of beachgoers arrived soon after and walked over to the "dig." S thought that they were just curious onlookers but then they walked over the rope and set up their picnic in the middle of everything. There was nothing she could do, as it was a public beach. It appeared to her that these other people had decided that clearly the best part of the beach would be the part that was occupied by others so naturally parking themselves in the center of the action would guarantee the most prime spot.
Maybe growing up in almost the opposite of density has wired me differently. I am not a fan of herding and I don't know what it would take for me to compete for a resource. I would not survive Survivor. I would not be part of those turtles who climb on top of each other to fight over the worms that the others want. I go out of my way in the opposite direction to push for more personal space. I will scoot away from others who sit next to me.
If I were to turn the lens backward upon myself I would see a neurotically territorial animal with an exaggerated view of the extent of necessary personal space. I probably resemble a small dog to the density dwellers as I tend to subconsciously annex the space around me, urinating on every fire hydrant within the city block.
A few weeks ago my boss decided to place a couple of file boxes for our project on my desk. It made sense to him because his office was cluttered and my desk is remarkably empty. Well, I spend time every week clearing off my desk and electronically filing everything to avoid paper clutter and it was a horrible shock to discover that the space I had so meticulously cleared off was now full of boxes. Just because the space is empty does not mean that I am not using it. I subconsciously stake out that territory! So I have carefully and methodically reorganized shelves in our storage cabinets and moved each box one by one out of my bay. That's right. My space, every empty square millimeter. Maybe I should raise my leg over it next time.
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