I've been drummed out of Barnes & Noble. The drumming was performed by a chatty man who wanted to tell me all about his difficult decision about should-he-go-for-a-new-job, and what to do about his weekend beach house, and ...
But I was sitting placidly in a chair, working on an essay, and listening to my little music. My B & N has a second floor with all these huge, cushy chairs clumped in groups of 4 around coffee tables. It's a great place to work or read or nap. I do all of the above.
Or did. This is the third time a random man has started to jabber jabber at me about all sorts of things in his life. My husband thinks they're hitting on me, but they're not. There must be something in my aura that yelps, "Open for business!" It's happened all my life.
The time before that it was a Russian emigre, who lectured me about American food, American lifestyles, how Americans are so dirty and don't know how to cook. That happens all the time, too, people deciding I'm just the individual to try out their fix-the-world ideas on.
But this man went too far. Just over the edge. Can't say how I can tell, just can. And he trampled right all over my delicate introvert sensibilities. He kept interrupting my work (I cannot write if I think someone's going to talk to me at any moment--if I have houseguests, my writing life disappears). He asked for my email address.
He asked where I was from. I told him (heaven help me, I can't lie), and privately choked a moment at the physical grip the Rockies still have on me. God, I miss home. He said, "That's why you're so nice." I thought (sometimes wish I'd said), "No, where I'm from people respond politely when interrupted in a coffee shop because where I'm from the interruptor knows to go away."
A few days later I risked Barnes & Noble again. I hid at a table, away from the cushy chairs, near the used book section. An hour later, he found me, grinned, pulled a chair out as I reluctantly removed my earphones (I can only listen to one of 3 CDs when writing, and bookstores don't play them).
He jabbered. I shrank. Now I can't go back. I'm stuck at home, with so many distractions, like a computer with Internet access. Why why why! In the spirit of Jonathan Rauch, "How interesting. Now please shush."
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4 comments:
I'll bet Miss Manners has the perfect solution for this. I'm always amazed at her wisdom.
In fact, she may have already answered a similar question in one of her books or in a column.
Can you pretend to be a librarian and just nonverbally Sssh him? Maybe wear dark glasses, and a cell phone fastened to your ear? (so much for being an introvert) Or one of those face masks the Japanese wear whenever they have a cold? ;~)
Anyway, I sympathize... my boyfried likes to talk to me when we're both home, or even at the coffee/book shop, sort of a running commentary-- even when I'm trying to read or type. [sigh]
So funny! That same day I talked to my sister, and vented the whole scene to her, and this first thing we talked about was, "What would Miss Manners have done?"
I've asked that question before, and I know MM's answered it in various ways. But I can't imagine anyone having the audacity to actually impose upon Miss Manners in that, er, manner. I bet she's got a very effective chilly expression.
Running commentaries are exhausting, I agree. My spouse is more social than I, but he absolutely understands need for quiet--or at least to not talk about everything that comes to one's mind.
Perhaps Miss Manners' more formal style of dress serves to inhibit intrusions?
I met her briefly at a reading at the Library a few years ago, and while she was signing my book, I told her that I had nominated her for Secretary of State in my "alternative" (shadow) cabinet (after the 2004 election). She seemed pleased and ready to get right to work!
What a good story. When I daydream about famous people having car breakdowns in front of my house, it's never George Clooney or Harrison Ford or even Judi Dench--nope, it's Miss Manners. And I always hope I'll remember to hand her teacup to her on a saucer!
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