I’m sound asleep, dreaming of warm sun on my skin when a mosquito flies into my ear. ACKKK!!!! I jump out of bed and whack myself in ear 4 or 5 times. That mosquito is like some of the intrusive people in my life.
I just buckled into my seat on the plane. I’m looking at a six hour flight but there are no babies crying, no one kicking my seat…hey, this might be a peaceful trip after all.
“Hi, what are you reading there?” says the person sitting next to me.
Oh no. Short answers. No eye contact. Oh crap, he’s turning to face me.
“Where are you headed? Ooo, where did you get that ring? I used to have a beard too, what kind of beard trimmer do you use? Are you married? Where’s your wife? Are you going to buy the lunch they offer on this flight?”
Yup, I sat next to an interrogator. Maybe he’s trying to be nice but his questions keep getting more personal. Six hours later, no sleep, headache, and I don’t want to see other humans for a few days.
Brooke strides into the room like she owns it. Her voice is louder than yours or the friend you were in mid-sentence with. She proclaims, “OMG you guys, you won’t believe what Steve just texted me!” You look up, no attempt to hide the anger in your eyes. Your friend mumbles, “How rude” but Brooke isn’t listening, Brooke’s laughing, aiming her stupid phone at you. Brooke is an interrupter.
Brooke already broke up your conversation so you both roll your eyes and wordlessly decide to play along hoping she’ll go away.
You say, “What did Steve have to-”
“OMG he’s such a flirt!” Brooke shouts over you.
For Brooke, it isn’t enough to be an interrupter, she is also an over-talker. She doesn’t want to have a conversation, she’s a black hole sucking up all the attention in the room. Your eye begins to twitch.
The Close Talker
I see him from across the room. I know him, I’m sure of it, but I can’t remember his name. He sees me, waves, smiles, comes walking over. Why do I feel a sense of dread? He loudly proclaims, “Hey Jim, how are you?” By the end of the sentence, he crossed the room and is now standing 10 inches from my face. He’s friendly…what was his name? I can smell hot dogs on his breath and I’m leaning back enough I may fall over. Is he really this close? Geez! Yes, Mr Whatshisname is a close talker. Not cool.
Mr. Whatshisname is waaaay too close for comfort. But then, he puts his hand on my shoulder. Suddenly I remember his name, it’s Harold, HANDSY HAROLD. Yeah, Harold really likes physical contact. He not molesting me but, jeez dude, just don’t.
Unfortunately this ended badly for Harold. He asked me about my beard and when he did he touched it and said, “How do you keep it so smooth and silky?” Let’s just say, now I’m not allowed in that restaurant.
Learn boundaries people! Oh heck, I’ve gotta run. Brooke is on her way over.