I was at the end of a long day; a three-day training in Washington, DC concluded at noon and I flew home via Detroit.
Standing at the baggage claim at DFW, I was fairly zoned out. (I don't usually check a bag, but I yielded to the gate agent's plea for volunteers for gate-checks due to the fullness of the flight.)
Suddenly a large hand was on each of my shoulders, and a voice from behind me, at least a head taller than me, said, "Excuse me, ma'am, that's my bag." He moved me over.
He moved me over.
I was so stunned, I didn't react. I didn't turn to look at him. I never saw his face.
I didn't elbow him (as I once would have) - my years of energy work have left me less defensive, and now I have to think whether that's a good thing.
Here's the deal: Don't touch me. Don't move me. You can tap me on the shoulder, you can speak to me. I am most happy to move over. But do not treat me as if I were an object in your way.
This happened almost a week ago and it is still creeping me out.
Don't. Touch. Me.