Gráinne Maguire, bad character witness

Shy people, we have already agreed, are the morning breath of people to get stuck with at a party. Sadly however, like most things in life, there are people who go so far in the other direction that you start feeling nostalgic for the tongue-tied unicorns.

I am talking about conversation road hogs, yappers who treat every social gathering like an impromptu “An Audience With..” You don’t talk to them, you are their personal late night chat show host, devoid of any personality, happy to just provide prompts for their hilarious anecdotes.

“So John, my researchers tell me…. you’ve taken up an interesting hobby in lockdown! Want to tell us more about it?!” *cheers from audience* They’ll then talk for half an hour about banana bread like they’re reliving a charming story about the time they went on a boat trip with Will Smith. You’ll know they’re done when they pause and instead of asking you a question, confusedly blink, as if they’re waiting for you to ask about their upcoming film. And when I say “people”, I mean men. In the words of TLC, “yes son I’m talking to you.”

I had the lucky experience of meeting such a person at the weekend. I say lucky, because talking to him made the prospect of a third lockdown and ban on all social gatherings till Christmas feel like a shining city on a hill.

This is how it works with these racont-bores: you say something out of politeness “I just rewatched The Sopranos over lockdown”. And they say: “oh yes the Sopranos” and then begin to tell you everything they know about the Sopranos, the career of James Gandolfini, the role of Italian immigration in American life and a podcast they heard about the invention of pizza. Not considering that if it was you that introduced the topic of the early noughties classic maybe, just maybe, you know as much as they do about it. Instead, they act like they are patient Anne Sullivan, explaining to you, Helen Keller, the meaning of the words you just said. Bringing up any topic to these people isn’t a conversation starter, it’s an improv challenge to see how long they can talk about a random subject until one of you dies.

You can't relax around these people because you know they are not listening to you, they are waiting for cues so they can start talking again. Every time you manage to steal a sentence, you feel the tension tighten like an elastic band. The further the conversation moves away from them, the anxiety stretches until PING they lose patience and it snaps back to them, stinging you in the face.

What are we supposed to do with people like him? Tell him to shut up? Call him out on his bad behaviour? Here we come to the sting in the tail, the twist, the pullback reveal - I must do nothing. Why? Because I am a terrible judge of character. I am the ultimate unreliable narrator. Judgement, I have none. My life is one long tale of the unexpected where the twist is always the same - oh of course - I was in the wrong. I cannot trust my gut instinct on anything. I have the woman’s intuition of Princess Diana picking a quiet city break.

Apparently, most people are the hero of their own story, calming assuming they’re a good judge of character, reassuring themselves with a shrug that at least they did it their way. Even Uncle Joey Stalin looked in the mirror and said “at the end of the day, I’m just me doing me.”

Alas, I don’t have that luxury.

I’m cursed with enough self-awareness to know I’m an idiot but there’s always at least around a 5 day delay. I know the calls are coming from inside the house, but I can never get to the phone in time. I will be happily walking down the street and then like Sam in Quantum Leap be transported back in time to the work Zoom call I had that Monday where I told everyone that I found the Matt Hancock video hot. Oh boy!

I have been bridesmaids for at least three women who upon first meeting me, confidently described me as “flinty”. When I met my best friend in the entire world, I refused to speak to her for about 6 weeks because I thought she seemed sneaky. Yet, when I met Jeffrey Archer, my immediate thought was - oh my god, are we in love?

So when I sit opposite this mansplainy little bitch telling me all about women in comedy, I don’t have the luxury of telling him to shut up, because the fact I 100% hate him at that moment means in about 6 months time, I’ll probably be giving the toast at his wedding. It is a tango of social hate I am stuck in until I can text someone else at the party “he’s a complete arsehole, right?” and it’s either confirmed or they look at me horrified and reply “that’s Tom Hanks.”