That's me, that is.
I need to get this off my chest.
I got caught in a conversation this evening by someone who latched onto me. I went to the Stage Door at the Royal Opera House and joined a number of fans in the lobby area as is my (occasional) habit. I do not mind entering into chit-chat in that situation; especially because it's a reasonable assumption there are shared interests.
This man saw me and began to talk. and talk. And talk. And talk. He told me of various operas he had seen. He told me of various operas he hadn't seen. He told me of various opera singers he had met. He told me about his daughter in France. He told me about both his ex-wives. He told me he was single now. He told me had retired three years ago. He told me about a friend in Germany with whom he exchanges gifts twice a year who is a tenor fan. He told me what he used to do for a living. He told me his religion but he doesn't go to Mass very often. He told me which choir he had tried unsuccessfully to join. He told me he was a bass-baritone. He told me what his father's favourite opera book was. He told me that someone who works on lighting has the same name as him, except hers has an 'a' on the end. And he went on and on. It wasn't that he didn't give me time to speak, but he spoke at me, very quickly making (incorrect) assumptions about me, basically being very boring. I did speak a bit, but offered very little in the way of personal information, except 'I wasn't there'.
But all the time my eyes were glazing over.
I do not know how to handle situations like this. My instinct told me in 10 seconds that he was a crashing bore. It took me maybe another minute to realise he was going to embarrass me. I do not know how to react when people tell me their life story within five minutes of meeting. I can't deal with it when people go on and on about stuff that either is of no intrinsic interest to me, or is so superficial in detail it soon loses its interest. It's all very well saying you met a star, but 'he signed autographs' tells me nothing I didn't know already.
Being a wimp, I endure it for fifteen minutes, then realising that my eyes glazing over, my edging away, my looking away, my non-committal 'oh's are to no avail, I can take it no more and tell him bluntly "You are very rude and very boring. I have no interest in hearing your life story."
The stars were not appearing (there was a dinner) and I decided to head home. As I walked to the bus-stop I felt a little bit of triumph that finally I had been blunt. As I waited for the bus, I began to realise I had been cruel. During the journey I decided it had been hurtful rather than cruel.
I probably didn't need to be so blunt. Maybe I could have tried harder in expressing boredom more subtly. If one tries not to be hurtful, it's a good start to living a good life. Maybe I should blame him, if he hadn't been so 'me me me' I would never have reacted that way. If he had picked up my body language, I would not have needed to be so cruel. But it's a simple fact of life that a significant number of people are incapable ever of picking up these signs, and assume that if someone is, initially, polite enough, it means they want to be talked at. He wasn't creepy or threatening just mind-numbingly tedious.
Perhaps my failing is not making allowances for people with a personality disability in the same way I would for a physical or mental impairment. I always used to be the person that the lonely latched onto. I've gradually shaken that habit. But, obviously, not sufficiently.
But then it's so rude at the outset of a conversation to say "I'm not going to get involved just in case you turn out to be tedious and embarrassing"
So I expect the worm will turn again and crawl under a stone.
