In recent history, or at least relatively recent history, conversation has become a favorite pastime of many organisms. A large portion of these organisms can be classified as humans, though proof arises nearly every day to suggest otherwise. The squawks and grunts emitted by some people may serve as annoyances, but there is a behavior that manages to be even more aggravating than deciphering the mumblings of the larynx-challenged. The people that exhibit this behavior are some of the most unrelentingly egocentric on the planet. They are the blocker-talkers.They’re nearly everywhere, these halters of all movement. They’re in the halls, the stairways, the streets and parking lots. They’re even in wide-open areas, defying all logic. They have no regard for the people behind them who are obviously in a hurry and don’t have time to stop and watch two other people talk about why Groundhog Day is the greatest holiday. Yet there they stand, practically at attention, unmoving until the ever-important conversation is through. “Let’s just stand here and hold everyone else up,” they say. “It’ll be grand!”
One of the worst of these offenders comes in a very clandestine package. Often the blocker will be standing in line in front of other customers at a deli or bar, calmly looking around and waiting his turn. Then he gets to the front of the line and all hell breaks loose. Turns out, this everyday-looking gentleman has an alter ego. He’s a blocker-talker, and he fulfills his duties by chatting up the cashier for anywhere between five minutes and three hours.
It doesn’t matter if this idiot doesn’t know the cashier. Somehow he manages to engage the unsuspecting money-handler in a conversation about tadpole development, and all the other customers look around in fear, hoping for another clerk to come from the back of the store to end this misery, but no one comes. The cashier tries to wave the customers around the semi-loquacious time-waster, but Mr. Blabberface won’t get out of the way. Tadpoles are actually baby frogs? Amazing! Not wanting to anger the blocker since he is a paying customer, the cashier will have to put up with his seemingly infinite tirade. Eventually he will run out of things to say, and in that brief gap between conversations the cashier will be able to yell “Next!” without offending him. Now all the other customers hope that there isn’t a mental clone of this man in line as well.
While this is obscenely annoying, blocker-talkers get worse. Occasionally they will run in packs, blocking entire hallways to talk about their weekend plans or the latest buck heads superglued to their walls. They will pay no mind to the poor souls trying to ease by but will spread out like a rash, damming an entire walkway. If beavers were this efficient, all of America would be flooded. Hopefully there are multiple ways around the building, otherwise a tent or sleeping bag may be required to wait out the conversation.
These inane egoists will also stop up stairwells like drains. Late for a meeting? Well, they’re not, so get ready to awkwardly cleave between them, receiving hateful looks as you selfishly interrupt their conversation. With any luck no one will tumble down the stairs to his death.
It’s never an intelligent conversation, either, believe it or not. Blocking pathways might be acceptable if these people were talking about a way to better the airflow in the hall or how to remove the asbestos in the ceiling. Maybe the stairs are too slick and they’re trying to determine how to make them safer. Nope. The conversations seem to go like this:
“Boy. I like beer,” says Dunce.
“Totally. Beer is good,” says Moron.
“Wow, you guys like beer, too?” says Ignoramus, walking up to complete the roadblock.
“Yeah! Beer is good!” says Dunce.
“Beer is good,” says Ignoramus, thoughtfully.
“No, guys. Beer is great,” says Moron.
“I never thought of it that way,” says Dunce.
“Would you guys like to go get some beer?” asks Ignoramus.
“No, let’s just stand here and keep talking about it,” says Moron. Repeat as needed.
What’s even better is when these troupes of triviality park their vehicles next to each other in a parking lot, rolling down their windows to basically say “Hello” for 15 minutes. It doesn’t matter if no other car can drive around the eight wheels of stupidity. Everyone else’s lives are put on hold while these bumpkins pretend the world doesn’t exist. It would be great if there were a way to forever cancel this action, but until Al Gore invents hovercars, these blocker-talkers will rule the parking lots.
The only real solution to these problems is anger. When a gaggle of pathway blockers arrives, get angry. Tell these people when they’re halting traffic. Make loud noises in the halls, distracting the fools long enough to break up their conversations, creating just enough time to run through the middle of them. They might even be so frightened by the noise that they never return.
Also, check your own actions. If you suddenly stop in the hall to talk, look around. Make sure you’re not completely in the way. If you are, shut up for a second and move. Don’t stop on the stairs to talk. Just say “Hey” and keep going, unless it’s important. In that case, move off the stairs and chat your head off.
Most importantly, don’t stop your car to talk to someone in another car. In fact, don’t stop your car to talk at all. Just keep moving and call the other driver later. Otherwise you’ll be wasting gas, and that gives the terrorists shiny new pistols.