The man at the next table has something to say.
And he’s been saying it loudly and in clear, decisive tones for a good 20 minutes now.
Judging from the looks on the faces around him, it may have been something they were expecting.
Ears assaulted, my eyes wander over the top of my margarita again and again to this table of 12. After-work Happy Hour? Club meeting? Family reunion? They are all wearing Hawaiian shirts, nautically themed shirts, and in the case of one woman, Capris-style shorts patterned with tropical birds…
Red-faced and in lecture mode, the man in question is keen to express his political beliefs.
His table-mates have gone silent and grim.
Giving up, I pull my book out of my purse, begin writing.
“What you people don’t understand…“
“What no one knows is…”
The woman to his left ducks her head, closes her eyes as he continues. He slaughters the names of the politicians he is talking about, twists them contemptuously.
He scolds the people at the table for their lack of political savvy.
“What you don’t seem to realize…”
The woman to his right turns away from him. She is Midwestern-ly polite about it, but the body language is clear: I don’t hear you.
The man across from him attempts to break in. “Hold on there a minute, Jim,” he says. “I don’t think there’s any reason to –“
Jim cuts him off. “See, this is where you just don’t understand.” He chuckles indulgently. “You’re being lied to by the people who are controlling what you hear.”
The woman on his right rises, leaves the table.
The woman on his left beckons to the waitress: Check, please.
The red-faced man doesn’t notice.
I finish the last of my margarita.
Man, I think. Some people just don’t know how to party.
And he’s been saying it loudly and in clear, decisive tones for a good 20 minutes now.
Judging from the looks on the faces around him, it may have been something they were expecting.
Ears assaulted, my eyes wander over the top of my margarita again and again to this table of 12. After-work Happy Hour? Club meeting? Family reunion? They are all wearing Hawaiian shirts, nautically themed shirts, and in the case of one woman, Capris-style shorts patterned with tropical birds…
Red-faced and in lecture mode, the man in question is keen to express his political beliefs.
His table-mates have gone silent and grim.
Giving up, I pull my book out of my purse, begin writing.
“What you people don’t understand…“
“What no one knows is…”
The woman to his left ducks her head, closes her eyes as he continues. He slaughters the names of the politicians he is talking about, twists them contemptuously.
He scolds the people at the table for their lack of political savvy.
“What you don’t seem to realize…”
The woman to his right turns away from him. She is Midwestern-ly polite about it, but the body language is clear: I don’t hear you.
The man across from him attempts to break in. “Hold on there a minute, Jim,” he says. “I don’t think there’s any reason to –“
Jim cuts him off. “See, this is where you just don’t understand.” He chuckles indulgently. “You’re being lied to by the people who are controlling what you hear.”
The woman on his right rises, leaves the table.
The woman on his left beckons to the waitress: Check, please.
The red-faced man doesn’t notice.
I finish the last of my margarita.
Man, I think. Some people just don’t know how to party.
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15 comments:
On a GNO recently, a fearless friend engaged a similar blowhard who was ranting at a nearby table. Except what she spouted was gibberish, nonsense words and syllables, replete with animated facial expressions and expansive gestures. It confused him, and then unsure if she was agreeing or disputing him, he meekly shut up.
Shelly, I like her spirit!
Don't know how to party, and yet know how to kill a party.
Lord Preserve Us!
I like Shelly's friend's idea... as long as I'm not the one spouting off! ;-)
vanilla, good point!
Daisy, not sure I could pull that off, but I thoroughly enjoy that there are people who can. Would love to witness!
Jim's right, Pearl. I don't understand what nobody knows. Instructive post. Without Jims, we wouldn't know which liars to believe and not even realize it.
That blowhard must have been an escapee from here in Sun City! There is a table of them in the CyberCafe at the entrance to our community center and they hold court there daily. I'm inspired by Shelly's friend's example. I may try it someday if it all becomes too much to bear. They have the little cafe to themselves because no one can stand to sit anywhere near them, even though the community as a whole is fairly conservative. (Those of us who are liberal Democrats have been driven underground and are working on secret handshakes and a special code.)
I would love to have the guts to do what Shelly's friend did!
But I'm like the lady to the right, who got up and left. Not sure I could have sat there as long as she did, though :)
Hari OM
They're everywhere, these greater-blinkered ring-knickered pop-eyed featherless poopingnincs.
The folk you meet when without your hunting gear... oh my mistake, Pearl had hers!! YAM xx
What you people don't understand, fail to comprehend, refuse to believe, and are incapable of digesting is...
Wait, what was the subject?
They come on both sides of the aisle. The ones one my side are the ones who are correct.
Ouch. I know this man, I am related to this man and I hope never, ever to become him.
I am really good at casually walking away from blithering idiots. "You people" (me included)should just stand up and yell, "mule muffins!" to the blowhard.
Could one not order a, say, Coconut Cream Pie and let him have it in the kisser?
Oh, I guess that would be politically incorrect, now, wouldn't it?
Sounds to me like someone should order a round for the bar on the poseurs tab.
There was a family of adult blowhards in a restaurant recently spouting obscenities at top volume, and the mother of the thirty-something egged him on and approvingly smiled and laughed. They are coming out of the woodwork.
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