Top Eight Hates

 

  

        Lists are often a big deal. Magazines have them frequently. People have “bucket” lists. There seems to be a “Top 10” for nearly everything.

        While I don’t like the “bucket” list, since once you’re finished, you’re expected to die, and I plan to live a good long time, I do have a somewhat unusual list.

        Mine is the “hate” list.

        I know, I know, your mother always told you that you shouldn’t hate. I don’t hate people. But I do hate certain habits I’ve seen in others. So, no, this is not the “I hate peppers and Brussels sprouts” list. It’s the things people do that aggravate me.

1.       I can’t stand when people attempt to finish my sentences for me.

Anyone who’s ever met me (unless it was at a party where I didn’t know anyone) knows I’m quite capable of speaking. But there are certain people who have this annoying habit – and it’s not only me they do it to – of thinking they know the last word I’ll say, and trying to say it before I do.

Besides being annoying, it’s rude. They’re interrupting.

I give them one chance. The second time they try to do it, I change the word I was going to say. It’s my way of smacking them in the face.

It does confuse them, and usually, after doing this three or four times (if they’re not the sharpest crayons) they stop doing it, at least for a few days.

2.     Talking over me.

I realize that, as someone with ADD, I have a tendency to go off on tangents when I’m telling a story or explaining something. I’m aware I’m doing it, but it’s a matter of saying the, “Oh, by the way” thing before I forget. I will eventually loop back around and finish the first thing I was telling them.

However, people often jump in and either change the subject entirely, or try to explain what I was explaining.

It’s rude. I think in future, I will just turn around and walk away, since they’re negating me as a person anyway.

3.     Using children as interruptions.

I’ve had friends say they haven’t seen me in ages and want to talk. They will even go so far as to ask a question. But the minute I start to answer, their child bursts in demanding attention.

Instead of saying, “Excuse me a minute,” and telling their child they are having an adult conversation, and it’s rude to interrupt, as my mother would have done, (in 9 out of 10 instances, the child has no emergency that requires interrupting), they go off with the child to take care of whatever the child wants.

Usually, said person never ends up having a conversation with me, since they’ve already reinforced for the child that rudeness is fine, and the child will do it repeatedly, or the person just gets busy with other people.

I would far rather people stop pretending they have any interest having a conversation than playing this cat-and-mouse game.

 

4.     The “Excuse me” excuse. This is like the child interrupter, but for people without a handy child.

These people pretend to be pleased to see me, ask me about something, and almost immediately say, “Oh, excuse me. I’ll be right back.” They then go off to talk to someone else, who, apparently, is far more interesting.

They want to make me shout, “How rude!” Perhaps I’ll try that.

5.     “Right, right, right!”

Perhaps the people who do this aren't aware that they’re doing it. Perhaps they think it’s helping the conversation along. Perhaps they really don’t know how annoying they’re being?

I had a supervisor who would do this in the middle of nearly everything I said. I don’t know what she thought it was adding to the conversation, but to me it simply meant, “I’m not listening. Shut up.” So I did. If she said, “Right, right, right,” I would assume she didn’t want to hear what I was saying, and I’d stop. She’d interrupted my train of thought, anyway.

Of course, sometimes she’d ask why I stopped, to which I’d reply that I thought she wanted me to.

I don’t just stop the conversation now, though. I walk away. (I'm retired. I can.)

6.     The phone as an excuse.

When I go out with someone, I generally don’t bring my phone. It wasn’t invited. If I’ll need it later, it goes in my pocket or bag on silent mode. I consider the person in front of me more important than someone at the other end of a text message or phone call. They can wait, leave a message or call back later. If I were waiting for a call about someone's death, I likely wouldn't go out at all.

So I find it rude in the extreme when I go out somewhere, especially for a meal with someone, and they are glued to their phone, either texting or answering phone calls. It has yet to be about their child being in an accident.

It’s rude. If you’re that much in demand, you certainly don’t have time for me. I’d have more fun staying home reading.

I have a rule at my house: no phones at the table. And it isn’t always teens that do that. I’ve had to tell adults (who shouldn’t have to be told this rule to begin with) to put away the phone or leave the table. If I can’t bring my book to a social gathering, others shouldn’t be allowed to bring mobile phones. 

7.     Name brand one-upsmanship.

I’m not impressed with name brands. I once said I wouldn’t wear Calvin Klein’s name on my butt until he wore mine on his.

My only exception is when I find something in particular that suits me. It isn’t the name that attracts me, it’s the functionality. (You may find Gloria Vanderbuilt's name on the inside --  never the outside --  of my jeans waistbands. They fit me well, and they're usually cheaper than other brands.)

An example is I like Pentax cameras. Not because of the name. And I have actually been put down for using a Pentax. I like the weight of it and the way it works. Besides, with cameras, it isn’t the brand, but the talent of the person using it that counts.

Not to brag, but I have gotten clear pictures at ½ second with my Pentax without a tripod. A friend who travelled with me once was bragging about her Cannon. But when she tried to get the same picture at the same setting, it turned out as a lovely blur of color.

Someone else once gave me a “Pfft” over my “inferior” Pentax.  She had a Nikon. We were both taking photos for a singer friend at a club. When she made the noise, I laughed and walked away. It turned out that little miss Nikon wasn’t a very good photographer, and was rather miffed at the end of the night when our mutual friend asked me to send her copies of the pictures I’d taken.

I don’t make a big deal out of what kind of camera I use. I only tell people the brand if they ask. And usually they only ask if they’re trying to seem superior. But then, I was offered a job as a professional photographer once on the basis of a series of pictures I’d taken with a Kodak 104 Instamatic. (One of those 1960s cameras with the cartridge and the flash cube.) So, take that, Nikon! 

8.     Self-impressed people. 

            The world is supposed to stop when they appear. If it doesn’t, drama ensues.

“Do you know who I am?” is a frequent demanded query of theirs.

Well, no. I don't suppose you happen to know who I am either, do you?

Actually, my attitude is, “I certainly wish I didn’t.” or “You’re a human being, no better and no worse than I am.”

Or, to quote Buggs Bunny, “What a maroon!”

There are other, less frequent annoyances, like people who think they’re better because of where they went to college, who they know or how much money they make. They’re simply boring people with no point, other than the one on top of their head, and I avoid them at all costs.

I’m sure there are plenty of human foibles that could be put on similar lists, but this is mine, and I’m keeping it.

 

     

The Waiting Room

 

It’s dark here – well, dim. It’s like a foggy, overcast midwinter day just before sunset, but in a huge grey room with no seams or corners to differentiate floor from walls from ceiling. I’m not quite sure where I am or how I arrived.

I don’t remember how I died, whether accident, heart attack or suicide. I do know I’ve definitely died. My name escapes me, but I know it’ll come to me. It’s like being newborn – or waiting to be born. I know I had parents and probably siblings, but I don’t know who they were, if they were there at the end, or if they’d gone on ahead.

It happened strangely. I expected my soul to be sucked out of my body by the great Electrolux in the sky and hurtled toward the light as I was taught. No. Instead it was like someone forgetting to pay the electric bill: Out go the lights – even the perception of it through eyelids. And then sound. The silence brings you up short. Not even a hum, rumble or beep. No smells, no taste and no feel. Imagine your body going to sleep but without the pins and needles feel. Just – nothing.

I guess I was shell-shocked, stunned into fetal position inside. Then I felt the movement. Funny, I hadn’t expected that. I didn’t feel anyone lift the body or disconnect needles or tubes. And I can’t say I actually felt the movement. I simply knew I was moving. I didn’t feel the body being lifted off the gurney onto the cold metal slab –I couldn’t feel the cold metal. I was aware of it sliding into the long, narrow refrigerated box and closing the door. I couldn’t feel the toe tag or wiggle my toes. Of course not.

I thought, wait a minute. I’m in trouble now. Freezing to death didn’t worry me –how often death is a figure of speech! – I needed to get out. I didn’t know what would happen if I were still there when the embalming started. I had to start doing something.

So, I lay on my back, put my hands up and pushed. You might think that was silly. There should be some cosmic escape hatch. Well, if it existed, I didn’t know about it. So I pushed like you would against the inside of the lid of a coffin if you were ever trapped in one. Lack of air didn’t concern me: I’d stopped breathing when I lost all of the other senses. I pushed and pushed and finally felt something give. I was free. I wasn’t in the long metal fridge. I wasn’t in the morgue. I didn’t know where I was.

I looked around. I saw no cherubs with harps, no heavenly host singing, “Alleluia”. No offense to anyone’s belief system, but they weren’t there. Maybe they hadn’t arrived yet. To my relief, there were also no little red characters with arrowhead tails, pointy horns and pitchforks stabbing at me. That at least gave me hope.

I walked – strolled, really – looking around at nothing, looking for something. That’s when I realized I was here, wherever here is.

I know I’m dead. Whatever the catastrophe, I didn’t survive. So – I guess I just wait in the great grey nothingness.

Maybe they hadn’t expected my death, even in the afterlife. Perhaps they’re still preparing. Maybe God’s second-in-command, or the maid-angel or someone is dusting the judgement room or making a pot of tea. How long could that take, right? I’m sure they know I’m here. So, I guess I’ll just sit down on the floor and wait.

What Would You Do?

 [Another reprint that no one read on first publication.]

Imagine it: what would you do if you were given the chance to start over? We’ve all been asked at one time or another, “If you had the chance to do your life over, what would you change?”

Most of us like to fantasize other scenarios our lives might have played out while still expecting to meet our loved ones but avoiding the mistakes. Most people wouldn’t give up a beloved spouse or children. But what if…

Movies have been written with this theme. Think of Rose in Titanic. Wealthy, engaged to a rich Englishman, she feels stifled by the second class existence she’ll live as his wife. When fate, in the form of an iceberg intervenes, she is given a second chance, and she runs with it. On the rescue ship, she gives a false name, and gives up her chance at wealth in a quest for happiness. By all accounts, she finds it.

Yes, it is a movie, but isn’t it just possible that some survivors of the Titanic – or the Lusitania or any other ship that sank – made similar choices, and took on new identities?

There are stories of members of the SS eluding authorities and moving to South America to start new lives, avoiding the prison sentences they deserved. No doubt other, lower ranking participants in the Second World War, or even those from other European countries trying to evade becoming soldiers found ways of disappearing and reappearing elsewhere years later with new identities.

Not everyone given that opportunity would do it. But not everyone who would do it is necessarily a bad person.

Imagine you’re in a bad relationship, but you’re significant other has threatened you harm if you ever try to leave. Imagine that on your way to work one sunny Tuesday, instead of going directly to your office on the 103^rd floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, you make a stop at a local drug store. As a result, you’re late for work, standing outside as the plane crashes into the building, your life saved. You can make the phone call telling people you’re all right or you can walk away, give up everything and start a new life.

While I don’t know quite how someone gets a new identity without being in witness protection, I can well imagine that at least a few people survived 9/11 as well as other disasters throughout the world,  who were listed as dead.

While it’s interesting to fantasize about what you would do if you were presented with the opportunity to start a new life, I’m also reminded of a Night Gallery episode from the 1970s in which a young man finds himself transported from nearly dying aboard the Titanic to waking up on the Lusitania. From there he escapes death once again to wake up on the Andrea Doria. I think the lesson to be learned is: Be careful what you wish for.