I love to read. Love it. I practically inhale books. To me, there are few things more satisfying than sitting with a nice, fresh cup of hot tea with the world running so completely in the background that I forget it's there, completely engrossed in the details of a really good story.
And few things are more irritating than some chump (it may be a coworker, it may be a friend, it may be a family member. . . but at this particular moment, they're just a chump) looking over at me, seeing me reading, and deciding to walk over to engage me in small talk. And what's this all-important conversation they just couldn't wait to suck me into black-hole-style, you ask? Oh, it's simple. They just want to ask me a question.
Chump: Whatcha readin'?
AS IF YOU CARE!!!
At least, that's what I'm screaming at the top of my brain. Instead of replying, I just kind of hold my book up so Captain Interruption can see for himself. I'm hoping against hope that this will deter any further attempts at conversation. I don't know why I bother, because the next inevitable question is:
Chump: Oh, what's it about?
What's it about?! Well! Since you asked, of course I don't mind launching into a half hour discussion detailing this story I've invested the last week in carefully reading. . . In fact, I was HOPING you'd come over here and ask me for a fucking book report! Especially since I know for a fact that you could give a rat's ass!
Of course, this is what I'm thinking, but instead I look blankly at my mood-saboteur and say: I don't know, I'm not done yet.
That usually does the trick.
But I have to wonder. . . do people look at me with a book in my hand and think, "Oh, GOD! What's that THING that's clamped onto that lonely girl's face?! For the love of all that's holy. . . it's a book! Oh, I MUST go and rescue her from it,"? How can they not see how absorbed I am and opt to leave me the hell alone? Why is reading synonymous with lonely in the eyes of the people in my life?
It's a trial for me to remain civil to people who do this to me. One of my coworkers came unwittingly close to losing a limb today when I decided to read at my desk instead of sit with my them at lunch today. There I was, minding my own business, when I heard (we'll call her "Gina" for blogging purposes) Gina in the other room ask, "Where's Jane?" There was a general round of Idunnos, so she got up to come look for me. I instinctively hunkered down in my chair and tried to look really focused on my book. I heard her come up behind me, and I didn't look up, employing the If I Don't See You, You Don't Exist strategy of encouraging her to go away.
Gina: There you are! Whatcha doing?
Me: Reading.
Gina: Oh. (mildly offended tone) Whatcha reading?
Me: The Amber Spyglass. (Good for me! I usually don't even respond to that!)
Gina: Oh. What's it about?
Me: (suppressing the urge to tell her illiterate ass to fuck right off, huffing impatiently instead) It's the third in a trilogy. Do you really wanna stand there and listen to me recap it while your lunch gets cold?
Gina: No, I guess not. Why don't you come eat with us?
Me: (mentally punching her in the face) Nah, i think I'll just read today. I've got a bit of a headache.
Gina: Oh, I'm sorry! I'll leave you alone.
So the reading wasn't a good enough reason to leave me alone- I actually had to feign illness to get her to go away. Is it just me? Or do people actually know this is my biggest pet peeve and do it just to fuck with my head?! Jerks.
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