Face-Spitting: Passive Aggressive or Just an Accident?

I inadvertently spit in someone’s face this morning.*  The frothy blob had some serious arc, and took what seemed like an eternity to find purchase.  Neither of us recognized the incident, we just kept talking.  I could see the spittle though, clinging to an eyebrow, like a baby seal on an ice floe.  The Spit Seal remained there until we ended our conversation–which was amicable–a real miracle considering my transgression.

The Spit Seal in its natural habitat.

Now, this was an accident, but what about purposeful face-spitting—that’s one of the most brutal insults on the planet.  The only acceptable use of purposeful face-spitting, in my book, is when you’re hassled by a close-talker.  Those folks deserve it.  I mean really, why do they have to get so damn close?  I rustle up words that begin “B” and “P” when speaking with a close-talker.  These consonants aid in the launch phase.  That’s the passive-aggressive version of face-spitting.

There are few things worse than face-spitting.  Wanting to shake my hand after I see you come out of the bathroom comes to mind.

*This may be the first ever written account of the Spit Spectacle.

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2 Responses to Face-Spitting: Passive Aggressive or Just an Accident?

  1. horse says:

    The involuntary spreading of oneself onto another can be a reflection of the human spirit longing to bond through the visceral systems network. Similar to taking a tinkle on a tree stump or firehydrant, and not necessarily territorial, but rather a lasting signature high five with saliva (exclusive from any ongoing verbal exchange). However, when deliberate, a swift nettle punch to the originating kisser will most likely contain any alterior intent in contrast to the former (which it always is [except maybe being under the influence of a substance, or having the chemical composition of a necromonger) .
    My sig house stated that cotton mouth can encourage drivel expulsion from the lips center whistle point. Who knows, maybe we have a developing Jacobson’s organ.

    Always drinking deep.

  2. Micke says:

    For a few years in the 90’s I worked in the Stockholm Subway (as in public transportation, not the sandwich shop). Late one night I was sitting in a ticket booth in a fairly large ticket hall. The customers were almost non existant, so I was just sitting in my plexi-glass booth, minding my own business. Then, at the far end of the hall, a bunch of kids showed up, and started forcing their way through the electric gates – not inflicting any damage, just basically sneaking their way in (without sneaking, I could see them – large as life). Now, my booth was a good 20 feet away, I am not the police, and could do absolutely nothing to stop them. So I continued to just sit there, letting them stare at me and making it absolutely clear that I don’t care what they do.
    Then one of the kids broke free from the group, walked towards my booth and – as he passed me – spat on the plexi, right in front of my face!
    The “sneakers” path through the gates were in a straight line down to the platform, so this punk actually took the time and effort to walk in a wide semi-circle…just to spit at me.

    I had to close the booth, lock myself in the bathroom and hit the wall until my fist bled – otherwise I seriously think I might have killed him…..

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