The Douchebag In Yoga Class... OM

I finally made it to yoga class today after several weeks of no babysitter.  I was happy. Boy, was I happy!  A guy came in and put his mat way closer to mine than was necessary.  Fine.  All good!  He was a very yogi-looking guy, extremely lean, hipster, and overly serious. Whatever.  I offered to move over to give him more space which put me right up against the wall.  No worries.  I'm happy!  We started class and were instructed to straighten our legs out to the side at 90 degrees about 6 inches off the ground, so he proceeded to place his two bare feet an inch above my nose.  Perhaps it's me, but isn't it common courtesy to be aware of your neighbors in yoga class and make whatever adjustments are necessary to get your "om" on while giving everyone else the inalienable right to breath without your feet in their face?

I gave him the benefit of the doubt - assumed he probably had his eyes closed and wasn't aware - and moved my mat for a second time, this time forward so I was up against both the side wall and the front mirror.  We came out of our first downward facing dog into plank, and I realized that the aforementioned gentleman had placed his PHONE at the front of his mat so that every time he came back into plank, he could CHECK HIS TEXT MESSAGES.  He was lithe enough to suspend himself easily with one arm while reading, typing, and then returning himself to down dog.

I wanted nothing more than to throw his phone and his bony ass out the window, but decided that it was my task to remain focused on my own practice and to let him have his.  I tried to tell myself that he must have a medical condition and an app that he had to update to keep his blood sugar at the correct level, or a family member in the hospital in dire condition and in need of constant monitoring... from yoga class.  But, probably, he was just so super important, so vitally necessary for the world to keep spinning that he had to stay connected.  I established that the latter was likely true when he started cracking his knuckles violently in the middle of savasana (the resting pose at the end of class).

When it was over, he bowed, said "namaste" loudest of all, and stayed meditative and holier-than-thou long past when the rest of us packed up our mats and blocks and got on with our days.  I actually managed to enjoy the class (love that teacher) and got a good workout.  I even learned a little something about how to stay calm and productive with a self-involved douchebag in my face.  His trip, not mine.  But seriously, dude. Seriously?