I’m on a moan mission I guess. I suppose the agreement I got with my last post has spurred me on.
I first heard the phrase from my brother and I think it is brilliant. I specialists.
Today I want to complain about the I specialists in my life. Well, actually, they are more around me than in my life; I have successfully divorced most of the incurable and certified I specialists I became friendly with by accident or while I was drunk. But every now and then, at social gatherings, either Big Friendly or I will be cornered by an I specialist, and there is nothing more unrelenting, boring and draining than having to uninterruptedly listen to the I specialist and their field of expertise, themselves.
I specialists have degrees in themselves; PhDs. They have special thoughts, ideas, feelings, opinions, theories and theses on their chosen field, TII, The Importance of I. They lock you in, drown you and dump you only when they get hungry or thirsty. Or when someone else they vaguely know joins the circle. And then they start from the beginning, filling the new captive in, in spite of the fact that they are repeating themselves almost verbatim, in front of you, who has already suffered through the first lecture. Then, if anyone ever gets a word in edgeways and it’s not about them, re-steering is necessary. Regardless of how obtuse, blunt or plain rude, it takes the length of a sentence to get back to them.
I love socialising. I love a good chat. I get excited and, like today, I get animated and passionate. But it’s an exchange of ideas and information. Things ping back and forth, people take stuff and run with it, other stories emerge and threads get built on or lost. Sometimes we gossip. Sometimes we share personal stories and information. Sometimes we even tell a long one about how we did blah blah blah. That stuff is all delicious. The I specialist can’t be part of that exchange.
The worst thing about an I specialist is that they have absolutely no self awareness or reflection. They are also incredibly thick skinned and can’t take even the most obvious hint. Most of their stories are hero stories about how they did…they knew…they said…they told…. They’ve played cricket, been in operas, recovered from incurable diseases, been to millions of weird places, read everything, been vegetarians, killed their own game, met everybody, worked with only the best and told them a thing or two, narrowly missed a shark attack, hi-jacking, brush with the law. They have almost won the lottery, been to the moon, met Madiba. They have seen every movie, heard every band, eaten every food, played every game, and anything they haven’t done (that maybe you have) is crap anyway and so not worth their time.
Once, I managed to escape an I specialist and he stalked me. He tracked me down and picked up where he had left off. When I realised that’s how it was going to be I got seriously drunk. It didn’t stop him, but I could no longer understand what he was saying, and that was marginally funnier.