O O Ø O O O O
Train 41
I’m not sitting beside you because I want to, I’m sitting beside you because my ticket has seat number “17” on it, and yours has seat number “18.” I don’t mind making conversation, but be warned that my definition of conversation involves speaking, listening, and thinking. I don’t want to bother my neighbours, and because this is a four-hour ride that my company is paying me to take, I do want to get some work done.
You seem to think I have nothing better to do than listen to your sermon. You assume that I’ll recognize your brilliance and that, like some biblical trick, the effluent flowing from your pie-hole will turn to magnificent pearls of wisdom. Everything you state is a fact, not an opinion, and you say it in a voice where the passenger in seat 49 at the back of the car will know what you think you know, whether they want to or not.
I’ll stare out the window at the lovely Southern Ontario countryside. You’ll interpret this as an invitation to talk louder, lest I have difficulty hearing you while my ears are turned away. I’ll open my laptop and start working on things I want to do. You’ll explain how my Ti is an over-priced piece of garbage. I’ll move on to watching a movie after tiring of you, because I figure the headphones will give you the first clue of the day. You’ll lean into me while trying to get a better viewing angle.
I think you’re missing some of my subtle hints, so let me be clear:
I don’t care about your Internet marketing company, nor about your impressive list of “clients” you name-dropped who are going to sign up for your services and make you rich. Here’s two bonus, and free, clues: If they’re not signed up, they’re not clients. If you use their names in public to toot your horn and they find out, they’ll never be a client.
I don’t need someone like you to lecture me on what technologies are valuable and useful, nor how the Internet works. Don’t preach your version of an ideal political system, healthcare system, educational system, or society. Expect people to disagree with you and, when they do, try not to attempt to make them feel stupid by using an over-extended vocabulary. Should you go this route, at least know what the word you’re using means.
I really don’t want to hear your phone conversations. They’re asinine, and I hope against hope that the person you were talking to wasn’t your wife because: a) you’re incredibly sexist; b) you’re the most condescending twit I’ve heard in a long time, and; c) if you have a wife, that means there is an opportunity for you to reproduce, which scares me—a lot.
When I stop talking, it means I’ve lost interest. When I turn away, it means I’ve lost interest and you’re too stupid to realise it. When I turn my screen away from you, it means I’ve caught on to your oh-so-subtle game of trying to read what’s on it. When I ask you to be quiet it means I’m getting close to knocking your teeth out.
In short, I don’t like you. Shut the fuck up and piss off (sorry, Mrs. W.)—it’s not even 8AM yet.
Kev Needham
February 15, 2005
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