The Bore

Having a conversation with Geoffrey was kind of like watching a foreign movie without subtitles in slow motion. He was not dull per se, but the longer that one spent in his company the less they wanted to be in it.

He had a tendency to lose his listeners when he went off on some obscure, metaphorical tangent. That was when their interest began to wane. They would start to look around the room in the hopes of finding something else to distract them. Eventually, if they nodded their head every now and then, they could drift back into the one-sided conversation without Geoffrey showing any sign that he knew they had gone off for their own private mental wander.

Geoffrey would fiddle with the sleeves of his shirt as time went on, then push the sleeve of his right arm away so that he could check his watch, as though he was the one who was eager to finish their conversation and leave. Still, hours could pass by of him talking, until eventually the listener would remember an important thing that they needed to go home and do immediately.

‘Oh dear,’ Geoffrey would say, his voice a little too exasperated for his expression. A trickle of faint relief would be seen in his eyes for a few seconds, if one looked closely enough to spot it. ‘Well, next time, then.’

Then both of them would go their separate ways, each promising themselves to ensure that the next time would not be for a long while.


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