Perhaps I was a bit too harsh? Was it too mean? Too abrupt? You know, sometimes in life you just have certain people in it that just rub you the wrong way no matter what. And maybe they aren't even necessarily annoying people in real life.
They're just annoying to me.
People like that can irritate you no matter what they do. He could put air in his tires, and I'd find something to be annoyed about the way he was doing it, even if the way he was doing it wasn't even remotely out of the ordinary.
"Did you see the way he put air in those tires? Like he's some sort of tire inflating expert or something."
It was in the middle of telling a story. Not a particularly good one, mind you. Granted. But it was a story, nonetheless. And perhaps by the time I was telling it I'd admittedly had a couple of beers down.
Okay, maybe it was four.
But I can handle my liquor just fine, thank you very much. I am a Bonafide professional, and four beers won't knock me out of my senses, that much I can tell you.
"You're painting a picture in my head," he said.
I really wasn't. That much was apparent. To him the words coming out of my mouth were nothing more than nonsensical gibberish.
Hey, give me a break here, will ya? I'm a writer more than I'm a talker. I'm good with words so I long as I write them down. But was my story really coming across that incoherently? That vague? Or was this pompous ass just being the typical pompous ass he is known to be?
Well, known to be from the likes of me.
But he is, actually. Even if some other people don't see it. Maybe they're pompous asses of sorts together. You know how that is in the world so often. Like minds just go together, don't they?
But wait a minute. Isn't that actually the other way around?
"The reason you two can't get along is because you're both so much alike."
Doh!
Yeah, fuck you too. I will stake no claim whatsoever that I have a single ounce of pomposity coursing through my veins. Unlike YOU, sir, I actually DO know everything.
You're painting a picture in my head...snicker, snicker.
Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and have your fun. I am glad to know that instead of actually hearing my story you were simply awaiting your cue to be able to find some fault with it. I'd expect no less from the likes of a guy like you.
Par for the course, as they say. I should've known better. Even if the story wasn't for him and no one else seemed fit to stop me in my tracks and suggest I was making about as much sense as a live blow torch in a fireworks warehouse.
Besides, how was I now going to make more sense? You scrambled my omelet, buddy, and what will be plopped on the plate will not even remotely resemble the breakfast I was aiming for. Thanks. And now on top of that you've got my panties all in a bunch.
Not only has my train of thought been perfectly derailed, now I am irritated too. On top of that, I had lost my interest in even finishing it. What was the point anyway? Clearly, he didn't think there was one to be found.
But finish my story I did. It didn't receive any accolades. Not that I was seeking any. And when the final word passed over my lips, the only thought that crossed my mind was...
I swear he's thinking it. "Cool story, bro."
Dagnabbit and confound it, no he didn't. Well, he really didn't. But I knew he was thinking it. He gave a slight nod and sipped his—whatever he was working on, and we went on about our evening per the usual.
When he said goodbye, I turned to my wife and looked at her in disgust, shaking my head. "Did you see the way he said goodbye? I mean, really."
Like the way I write or the things I write about? I write about serious and important things too, and you will find much more clarity outside of here than you will ever find inside of here. Follow me on my Facebook page for all my latest rants and even some nonsensical nothings.
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