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I Would Hate Them If I Could

Have you ever met someone that you just want to strangle? They annoy every part of you and make you insane? They would be the one person who could ever make the calm you go Postal. Yet they are so damned nice you can’t help but like them? Yeah. I have one of them who works with me every day.

When I am having a conversation with one of my co-workers, this person insinuates themselves into the middle. Even when the conversation has nothing to do with them. If they walk in to the room and a conversation is going on they walk over, join in, uninvited mind you, and talk as if they had been there from the beginning. I don’t remember sending invitations to the conversation and yet they participate as if they had a gold invitation and are a welcomed party.

When I have a phone call, business or personal, they comment after I hang up. Sometimes they think they are clarifying the situation I was discussing on the phone. Sometimes they think they are adding necessary information. Their motive doesn’t matter. They are always annoying.

They are always the most well read, well connected, well informed of anyone you know. They know something about everything and not much about anything. Politics, yup, they have it covered. Business. Mmmm, hmmmmm. Been there, done that. Sports. Entertainment. Books. Religion. They know it all. Well, they know something about all of them.

This morning I was talking to a co-worker about trees. The specific question put to me was, “what would you plant?” I was the only person in the room when the question was asked so I assumed (yes, I know one should never assume anything, but this was a safe bet) I was the only person whose opinion was being sought. As I was explaining what I would do and why, and even showing pictures of my choices on the computer in walks the unwelcome guest in every office conversation.

“Oh, you looking at planting trees. Where are you getting them from? I have a friend who owns a nursery. He would be glad to help. You don’t have to buy from him. He’ll just show you what’s available and help you choose the right thing. His nursery is close by. Where are you planting them? How many are you planting? Have you considered…….and off they go with my conversation.”

I don’t think the intruder even took a breath. They had everything so well in hand I just shut up, closed the computer screen and went back to what I do best – ignore intruders.

I may have been ignoring them on the outside, but inside I was fuming. My blood pressure was rising 25 points per second. I am quite certain, that if you were to look, you would have seen steam coming out of my ears.

Just before I jumped up to throttle the intruder they asked me how my evening was? Had I seen the news about the billboard with George W. Bush on it that says – Miss Me Yet? How am I feeling? Would I like something to drink?

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. They stole my mad. I hate when that happens. You get all worked up and ready to fire off on someone and they turn nice on you. It’s like blowing up a balloon just to pop it with a pin. It’s just plain wrong.

I replied fine, and yes, good today, and no I already have one, and went back to my work. I’m still fuming, I think. But I couldn’t muster a good mad upon this person right now if I had too. Until the next time they insert themselves back in to one of my conversations.


From the life and mind of:

Wanda M. Argersinger

©2010 All Rights Reserved


About Wanda Argersinger


  1. Advise: Slap them before they turn nice, then they don’t have a chance to turn nice….now you work with me everyday and I know that I am not the intruder you are describing….LOL

  2. Wanda, These types of people are morons and clueless, Joanie

  3. Try: Oh, glad you are here. Could you get me a cup of hemlock..and test it to be sure it is fresh? Oh, and I also need a Bowie knife. I’m planning to skin something alive in a minute? And on the way could you call your spouse and tell him/her you don’t know the first name but you think the stage name is “Strip to My Lou” “Great Balls of Fire”.

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