I loathe those people that tell painfully long stories that their audiences begin to tune out after the fourth-ish tangent but, being too engrossed in the story of their own lives, are unable to take a hint and just keep going and going with too many details and a climactic moment that is exciting to no one but them. I especially hate when I attempt to give them a hint that I couldn't possibly care less about the story they themselves seem to find so freakin' funny...I mean it's not normal for me to call another friend mid conversation..
Sometimes, I fear that I am one of these people. In fact, there's a pretty good chance that I am.
Today, however, I am not that person; instead, at this very moment, I am the victim of such shenanigans. A man with dark curly hair and olive colored skin approached my table about 4 minutes ago and began talking to me in a deep husky voice. He has been talking with hand gestures for the full 4 minutes, barely taking a moment to breathe. Occasionally, his voice gets louder and really fast which results in a light spit misting of my table and a higher intensity of the dramatic hand movements. I mean, I want to enjoy his story that he finds so great he felt that a complete stranger in the Zagreb airport needed to hear it, but I cannot.
The problem: he is not speaking English.
I'm just staring at him. (Well I was for the first 3 minutes, now I'm typing.) I don't really know what else to do.
All the while, a couple two tables away from me keep taking turns to walk up and take my picture. I'm pretty sure they've gotten five photos at this point with flash. At this moment, I am unsure if I should feel like a high profile celebrity or a circus freak.
This is going to be a really great move.