原文：
At my bank the other day, I was s tanding in a line snaking around some tired velvet ropes when a man in a sweat-suit started inching toward me in his eagerness to deposit his Social Security check.
那天，我又到了我常去的那家银行。我站在一条冗长曲折的蛇形队伍里，队伍的两边被松松垮垮的绒绳包围着，这时一位身着一身古板运动套装的男子开始悄悄地挪近我，引颈高望，急着要去存他的社保支票。
As he did so, I minutely advanced toward the woman reading the Wall Street Journal in front of me, who, in mild annoyance, began to sidle up to the man scribbling a check in front of her, who absentmindedly shuffled toward the white-haired lady ahead of him.
由于他的做法，我不得不被迫挨近前面正在读华尔街日报的女士。她为此有些恼怒，侧身贴近在她面前正在寥寥草草地写发票的男子。男子见状，心存不满，心不在焉地拖着脚步走近他身前的一位头发花白的女士。
until we were all hugger-mugger against each other, the original lazy line having collapsed in on itself like a Slinky.
最后我们都杂乱地彼此贴近，原本松散的队伍就像坠下楼梯的弹簧圈一样锁紧在一起。
I estimate that my personal space extends eighteen inches in front of my face, one foot to each side, and about ten inches in back—though it is nearly impossible to measure exactly how far behind you someone is standing.
我估摸着我的个人空间只能向前延伸十八英寸，两边各仅有一英尺，向后只有十英寸（尽管几乎不可能准确测量那个站在你身后的人离你有多远）。
The phrase "personal space" has a quaint, seventies ring to it ("You're invading my space, man"), but it is one of those gratifying expressions that are intuitively understood by all human beings.
“个人空间”这个词听起来有点古板，像是那些生活在七十年代人的语气（“你侵占了我的空间，先生”）。
Like the twelve-mile limit around our national shores, personal space is our individual border beyond which no stranger can penetrate without making us uneasy.
但用这句令人愉悦地话时，人们总能被它直观地说服。这就如同包围着我们国家那12英里的海岸线，个人空间就是我们个人的边界，只要有陌生人越过这个边界，就会使我们感到不安。
Lately, I've found that my personal space is being invaded more than ever before.
最近，我发现我的个人空间受到了前所未有的侵犯。
In elevators, people are wedging themselves in just before the doors close; on the street, pedestrians are zigzagging through the human traffic, jostling others, refusing to give way.
电梯里，人们为了搭上电梯，蜂拥而入；大街上，行人为了赶路，蜿蜒地穿过人流，推推搡搡，绝不让道。
on the subway, riders are no longer taking pains to carve out little zones of space between themselves and fellow-passengers; in lines at airports, people are pressing forward like fidgety taxis at red lights.
地铁里，乘客不会努力去维持自己和别人之间的适当距离；机场的候机队伍里，人们不断向前推挤，就像面对红灯时烦躁不安的出租车司机。
At first, I attributed this tendency to the "population explosion" and the relentless Malthusian logic that if twice as many people inhabit the planet now as did twenty years ago, each of us has half as much space. Recently, I've wondered if it's the season:
起初，我把这种趋势归因为“人口爆炸”以及冷酷的马尔萨斯逻辑，也就是说相比二十年前，如果有现在有两倍的人生活在地球上，我们每个人拥有的空间只有原来的一半。最近，我在想这是否是因为季节：
T-shirt weather can make proximity more alluring (or much, much less).
穿T恤的天气也许会更吸引人们互相接近（或者更加厌恶其他人靠近）。
Or perhaps the proliferation of coffee bars in Manhattan—the number seems to double every three months—is infusing so much caffeine into the already jangling locals that people can no longer keep to themselves.
抑或是曼哈顿不断涌现的咖啡厅——它们的数量似乎每三个月就会翻一番——给本来就喧闹焦躁的当地人注入了太多的咖啡因，所以他们更不要独自待着了。
Personal space is mostly a public matter; we allow all kinds of invasions of personal space in private. (Humanity wouldn't exist without them.)
个人空间主要是一个公众场合的问题；私下里我们允许各种侵犯个人空间的行为。（没有它们就不会存在充满人情味的社会。）
The logistics of it vary according to geography. People who live in Calcutta have less personal space than folks in Colorado.
个人空间的逻辑准则和地域有关。住在加尔各答的人们比住在科罗拉多的人拥有更少的私人空间。“不要踩我”这样的话只会出自某个拥有大片土地的人。
I would wager that people in the Northern Hemisphere have roomier conceptions of personal space than those in the Southern.
我敢打赌北半球人比南半球人的有更深的私人空间概念。
To an Englishman, a handshake can seem like trespassing, whereas to a Brazilian, anything less than a hug may come across as chilliness.
对一个英国人来说，握手都可能是一种冒犯；然而对一个巴西人而言，连个拥抱都没有就会被看作是冷淡。就像那些撞了你停好的空车而不留字条的司机，人们不当心撞到你时不再低声说一句“不好意思”。
原文：
At my bank the other day, I was s tanding in a line snaking around some tired velvet ropes when a man in a sweat-suit started inching toward me in his eagerness to deposit his Social Security check.
那天，我又到了我常去的那家银行。我站在一条冗长曲折的蛇形队伍里，队伍的两边被松松垮垮的绒绳包围着，这时一位身着一身古板运动套装的男子开始悄悄地挪近我，引颈高望，急着要去存他的社保支票。
As he did so, I minutely advanced toward the woman reading the Wall Street Journal in front of me, who, in mild annoyance, began to sidle up to the man scribbling a check in front of her, who absentmindedly shuffled toward the white-haired lady ahead of him.
由于他的做法，我不得不被迫挨近前面正在读华尔街日报的女士。她为此有些恼怒，侧身贴近在她面前正在寥寥草草地写发票的男子。男子见状，心存不满，心不在焉地拖着脚步走近他身前的一位头发花白的女士。
until we were all hugger-mugger against each other, the original lazy line having collapsed in on itself like a Slinky.
最后我们都杂乱地彼此贴近，原本松散的队伍就像坠下楼梯的弹簧圈一样锁紧在一起。
I estimate that my personal space extends eighteen inches in front of my face, one foot to each side, and about ten inches in back—though it is nearly impossible to measure exactly how far behind you someone is standing.
我估摸着我的个人空间只能向前延伸十八英寸，两边各仅有一英尺，向后只有十英寸（尽管几乎不可能准确测量那个站在你身后的人离你有多远）。
The phrase "personal space" has a quaint, seventies ring to it ("You're invading my space, man"), but it is one of those gratifying expressions that are intuitively understood by all human beings.
“个人空间”这个词听起来有点古板，像是那些生活在七十年代人的语气（“你侵占了我的空间，先生”）。
Like the twelve-mile limit around our national shores, personal space is our individual border beyond which no stranger can penetrate without making us uneasy.
但用这句令人愉悦地话时，人们总能被它直观地说服。这就如同包围着我们国家那12英里的海岸线，个人空间就是我们个人的边界，只要有陌生人越过这个边界，就会使我们感到不安。
Lately, I've found that my personal space is being invaded more than ever before.
最近，我发现我的个人空间受到了前所未有的侵犯。
In elevators, people are wedging themselves in just before the doors close; on the street, pedestrians are zigzagging through the human traffic, jostling others, refusing to give way.
电梯里，人们为了搭上电梯，蜂拥而入；大街上，行人为了赶路，蜿蜒地穿过人流，推推搡搡，绝不让道。
on the subway, riders are no longer taking pains to carve out little zones of space between themselves and fellow-passengers; in lines at airports, people are pressing forward like fidgety taxis at red lights.
地铁里，乘客不会努力去维持自己和别人之间的适当距离；机场的候机队伍里，人们不断向前推挤，就像面对红灯时烦躁不安的出租车司机。
At first, I attributed this tendency to the "population explosion" and the relentless Malthusian logic that if twice as many people inhabit the planet now as did twenty years ago, each of us has half as much space. Recently, I've wondered if it's the season:
起初，我把这种趋势归因为“人口爆炸”以及冷酷的马尔萨斯逻辑，也就是说相比二十年前，如果有现在有两倍的人生活在地球上，我们每个人拥有的空间只有原来的一半。最近，我在想这是否是因为季节：
T-shirt weather can make proximity more alluring (or much, much less).
穿T恤的天气也许会更吸引人们互相接近（或者更加厌恶其他人靠近）。
Or perhaps the proliferation of coffee bars in Manhattan—the number seems to double every three months—is infusing so much caffeine into the already jangling locals that people can no longer keep to themselves.
抑或是曼哈顿不断涌现的咖啡厅——它们的数量似乎每三个月就会翻一番——给本来就喧闹焦躁的当地人注入了太多的咖啡因，所以他们更不要独自待着了。
Personal space is mostly a public matter; we allow all kinds of invasions of personal space in private. (Humanity wouldn't exist without them.)
个人空间主要是一个公众场合的问题；私下里我们允许各种侵犯个人空间的行为。（没有它们就不会存在充满人情味的社会。）
The logistics of it vary according to geography. People who live in Calcutta have less personal space than folks in Colorado.
个人空间的逻辑准则和地域有关。住在加尔各答的人们比住在科罗拉多的人拥有更少的私人空间。“不要踩我”这样的话只会出自某个拥有大片土地的人。
I would wager that people in the Northern Hemisphere have roomier conceptions of personal space than those in the Southern.
我敢打赌北半球人比南半球人的有更深的私人空间概念。
To an Englishman, a handshake can seem like trespassing, whereas to a Brazilian, anything less than a hug may come across as chilliness.
对一个英国人来说，握手都可能是一种冒犯；然而对一个巴西人而言，连个拥抱都没有就会被看作是冷淡。就像那些撞了你停好的空车而不留字条的司机，人们不当心撞到你时不再低声说一句“不好意思”。
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