My Little Annoyance
Irritation and annoyance go hand in hand...
Oh my goodness... Now, I do admit that I am an irritable person. I am extremely sensitive to sound (Raz had to buy a special NON-CLICKY mouse because it was driving me up the wall) and I loathe people eating in the office, particularly when...ugh.
Bit of a character study and vent piece.
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Story © Amethyst Mare / Arian Mabe
My Little Annoyance
Written by Arian Mabe
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How does he walk in such a way that incites anger, frustration roiling to the surface like a cauldron of boiling snakes? Storming, through the room, he strides as if he is the most important person there and, far from making himself seem so, it only serves to raise an eyebrow. He is not imposing, but merely a small dog that has evaded its owner and is now scurrying from place to place, cast out on a great adventure that its mind simply cannot comprehend.
He snorts at his desk, sucking in a huge gulp of air through an open mouth and then clamping his greedy maw shut again to expel it, all in a rush, through his short, piggy nostrils, snout unbecoming to a quiet breath. I can only assume that is so as I have had little to discuss with such a person before and he does so make it difficult. Everything he says, he seems to believe is oh so very hilarious and he laughs in a gasping, lording breath that doesn't seem to lace his lungs with very much oxygen at all.
And the interruptions. Dear lord... Would it, please, be possible for me to have a conversation with absolutely anyone in the near vicinity - anyone will do, I'm really not all that picky - without him chiming in his painful two cents on things he knows nothing about? He just _has_to be involved. But if is something that doesn't concern him, is it really his business? I swear, I could probably call up the doctor's surgery right here at my desk and he would come across to say that he needed that appointment slot and I'd just have to take another one. It wouldn't matter - he would just have to be involved, somehow or somewhere.
Eating... Oh, how I despise the grunts and groans of the noonday feast. He says he's too busy to stop and eat, but he seems to get so little work done that I can't say that I'm perfectly convinced. Crisps are, by far, the worst. Grabbing a meaty handful in his chubby hands, he crams them all into his mouth, poking in any bits that are left sticking out as if he is trying to fill his cheeks like a little chipmunk. But there is nothing cute about the crunching and slobbering that commences after this. I didn't know it was possible to slurp crisps, but, somehow, he manages it.
He thinks he's too good to go out and talk to people and he doesn't train people to cover his work in his absence, hoarding it all and clutching it to his chest like straws that, somehow, are still falling through his fingers. I cannot fathom why he does this, but perhaps there is some underlying fear that, if someone actually manages to do his work while he's out of the office, people will see that he's really not as special and all-knowing as he proclaims to be and is really just a man doing a job.
It's nothing more special than that, really, when you grind down to the nuts and bolts of it. But he thinks it is.
There's so much that could be written, but all boils down to the unpleasant nature of his character, the sense of self-importance and the dirty greed to be noticed. He doesn't get his head down and grind to do the hard work to be noticed, but rather raises his voice louder and louder, bumbling over you until you snap and freeze in steely silence for the monkey to be done with the charade. He makes your work take ten times as long, if you have the misfortune of him being involved, and everything drags on and on as he speaks. If there are truly circles of hell, he must sit, feet swinging on the deepest one.
Yet it is a workday and what can I say? He is my little annoyance.
I don't thank him for that.