I’m a social type. I like parties and gatherings. I enjoy meeting new people and talking to strangers.
Once I spent the day with my friend and her friend, whom I’d never met. Now, this woman, let’s call her Oblivious, was interesting enough. And by interesting I mean she talked all the time about stuff she bought and stuff she wanted to buy. This is interesting because it’s extremely odd. And this is odd because she clearly had no idea that we didn’t care about her Pier-One-Sax-BMW-driven materialistic urges.
I didn’t care so much that her choice of subjects never improved. I’m truly fascinated by people, and I try to find the good in even the most distasteful of our gaggle. And the fascinating thing about Oblivious was how very earnest she was about her passion for everything with a brand name. She was also neurotic, obsessive, and intelligent. A unique simpleton, indeed.
Here’s where the unwarranted hate comes in. I had spent all day and night listening to her inane blathering. I knew about everything she ever bought, every exercise she ever attempted, every boring sex act she and her boyfriend tried, and every ordinary trip she ever took. And all of this was unsolicited. I had ceased even feigning interest almost immediately.
To her credit, she wasn’t really talking to us. She was just talking. But she wasn’t maliciously boring. She just had a bloated sense of her own importance. And, because it came from such an innocent place, it was forgivable.
After a long day of jawing, she was ready to pack it in. She was saying her overly long goodbyes, replete with tangents about her nails and hair, when I saw her notice me. She cocked her head a little, like a dog. And she asked me what I do for a living by telling me what I didn’t do in the manner of, “so, you work at the Best Buy?” Something way off base like that.
I went to correct her. “No, I …”
Oblivious looked in her purse just then, no doubt wondering if Louis Vuitton was chichi enough.
“I work in a corn dog test kitchen,” I finished.
“I wonder if I can get a new Louie?” she said in response.
And that did it. I had listened to her inane crap all day, excusing her behavior as harmless cluelessness. But once she showed that she couldn’t gather even the most rudimentary knowledge about the person she divulged her whole painfully common history to, well, then she was dead to me.
Discouragement Kitten said,
September 27, 2006 at 2:24 pm
I just had an odd experience reading this. I was reading it in my head (usually the way, eh?) and I was using my random third person head voice – as soon as I read the words: “I work in a corn dog test kitchen,” – I heard your voice in my head. It was really very funny to me – very invasive – get the fuck out.
Cordelia said,
September 27, 2006 at 2:56 pm
I’m amazed you sat through that whole conversation–Austenian amusement at the foibles of other people notwithstanding, the self-involvement would have had me knocking back shots WAY before your totally warranted hate.
julieluongo said,
September 27, 2006 at 3:02 pm
DK, I’d prefer to stay. I still have half a vodka, and Tom Waits is singing. Although random-third-person-head-voice is droning on. The devil is giggling about Mrs. Robinson naming her boy-toy “Simon” and then never using the carefully selected name again. Someone is doing work. There’s other stuff…well, you know. It’s a crazy party in here.
julieluongo said,
September 27, 2006 at 3:09 pm
Cordy, I wish I could claim Dalai Lama-like patience and inner peace. But, the truth is that I have a super power. I can make people disappear. I blot them out completely. I wave my hand dismissively and poof. Gone. (I can also make myself invisible, but that’s another story.) My inner peace is an illuuuusion.
Discouragement Kitten said,
September 27, 2006 at 3:41 pm
What’s a Louie?
julieluongo said,
September 27, 2006 at 4:07 pm
See that handbag in the illustration with the overlapping LV logo? That was designed by Louie… short for Louis Vuitton. He’s like a super-important designer for all of the social climbers of America. Sheesh, DK. How do you expect to be nouveau riche if you don’t know even the most basic information?
Discouragement Kitten said,
September 27, 2006 at 4:33 pm
Oh. OK. Someone sent this to me today and I thought you might find it funny.
http://bitsandpieces1.blogspot.com/2006/09/jesus-image-found-in-dogs-butt.html
julieluongo said,
September 27, 2006 at 4:53 pm
It’s almost as funny as the woman on Inked who got a tattoo of her grilled cheese sandwich half (bite mark and all) that had the image of the virgin Mary toasted into it.
Bunche said,
September 27, 2006 at 6:04 pm
Believe me, Julie, I feel for you on this one. One of the many things that bite the big one about working at the barbecue joint is theoretically having to put up with all manner of bad behavior and listen to the customers’ endless blather because I am paid to do so. Whenever I have nothing to do in the kitchen I refuse to stay in there like some lackey – which at first irritated my boss, but then he figured out that the customers like getting to know the cook – and sometimes some ass clown will walk in and put the staff through exactly the scenario you related, only even worse thanks to the perps being fueled by massive amounts of booze and cocaine.
The worst of these was an imbicile who was coked out of his mind and endlessly rambling on about why MIAMI VICE was the greatest TV show ever, and how the movie could be nothing less than excellent. He droned on about this for two hours, inflicting his bugeyed cokeness on total strangers, even sitting down between couples who were trying to spark something and completely disrupting their mood, finally ending his reign of terror by taking off his belt and starting to wrap it around his fist in case anyone tried to “throw down.” The best part of this was that he got ejected by one of my favorite regulars, a kickass diesel dyke named Cathy, who grabbed him by the scruff and the nuts and unceremoniously dumped him onto the sidewalk.
julieluongo said,
September 27, 2006 at 6:10 pm
I had not considered the possibility that she was drunk and on coke. That is likely. But enough about her. Someone said that Miami Vice was the best show on TV? You are making that up, Bunche!
Jenn said,
September 29, 2006 at 7:42 pm
I sell couch insurance.