Adel Gabot

There was a guy just in here in Starbucks who was an incorrigible, loud, irritating blowhard.

I’d seen him before, and he was not as big a jerk the last time, but today he was really something.

He was with this other guy, some token sidekick-personal assistant-sycophant type. When he sat down, it was incessant tooting of his horn. In a loud voice for all of the shop to hear, he talked endlessly of his exploits: his joining a “marathon” back in the day where he became “champion” and beat out everyone in the 5K run, it was in all the newspapers; his being unbeatable in tennis, where he won a ‘humongous” trophy that he had to leave in the States because it was too big to bring home; and that sort of junk. He waxed rhapsodic about his various other adventures that turned me into an unwilling yet captive listener.

I didn’t want to listen, and tried to tune him out and work, but his overriding, grating voice couldn’t be denied. You just had to listen, he was so loud, and I could tell that the other patrons were also being bothered and irritated. And still the guy went on and on.

When he first arrived this morning, he made small talk with the guard. Apparently they were old “friends”. Maybe the guard worked for him at one point in the past, and the false bonhomie he cultivated back then he brought back to life now, and his false cheeriness was stupefying. His sycophant assistant didn’t help, and he encouraged the blowhard to tell more of his wonderful exploits.

After a while (a long while), his parents came and met up with them, and old lady and an old man with a cane and a limp, old rich and old money. He immediately turned into a dutiful son, kissing the mom and giving the dad a mano po in respect, shifting into obedient yet still arrogant superiority. Apparently they all had a lunch date next door, and they all left noisily.

Thank God.

I thought they’d never leave.

Just ranting. Back to work.

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