SNIFFING, SHOUTING AND LOOKING LIKE A POTATO

Ndumiso Ngcobo on those with a natural gift for irritating others

WRITING for a living requires spending more than one’s fair share of time being “that guy” furiously bashing his keyboard in coffee shops, restaurants and hotel lobbies.

And there are serious occupational hazards to trying to meet a deadline at a Mugg & Bean. For example, I recently sat one table away from the most irritating human being on the planet.

Don’t scoff. Statistically speaking, the most irritating human being on Earth must exist, and I believe she was seated two metres away from me at a coffee shop last Monday. I became aware of her existence about 10 seconds before I actually saw her: she was yelling into her phone at roughly 387 decibels.

I’m a fallen Catholic who doesn’t pray nearly as much as he should, but I remember making a pact with the Almighty that if he directed her away from my corner of the coffee shop, I would say five Our Fathers, 10 Hail Marys and three Mysteries of the Holy Rosary that evening.

I think the Omnipotent One was, at that moment, distracted by the crisis in Syria or Pravin Gordhan’s troubles with the Hawks, because she made a beeline for the table right next to mine.

Then she carried on barking instructions to what seemed to be her partner in an import/export business operating in South Africa, Singapore, Hong Kong and Thailand. A deal was in jeopardy because her partner wasn’t being firm enough. “I can’t believe you agreed to $2 800 000. That’s peanuts! What must I do with that much? My cars alone are worth more than that.”

Now let me describe her voice. It was a deep, raspy bellow that reminded me of a walrus bull ejaculating in a recent NatGeo Wild doccie. Just think of a cross between Bruce Springsteen’s croak on Trapped and a constipated 1973 VW Beetle.

When her call ended I rejoiced internally. I should have kept that champagne on ice.

You see, she suffered from severe sinusitis — the kind that required her, every 2.3 seconds or so, to make a dry, dragging noise with her nose and throat.

I looked skyward for divine intervention. This went on for about 10 minutes until her rooibos tea arrived. She then drank it: by puckering her lips into an Angelina Jolie pout before slurping it up with a long “hlllllip” sound.

I decided that since the Lord wasn’t helping me, maybe the waitress could. Would it be possible for her to find another table with a plug point so I could work in peace? Unfortunately, sir, all the plug points are taken.

Oh dear. Not another phone call. This time: “No, no, no! Who is the image consultant here? Me or you? What am I paying you for? Dear, there’s a big difference in class between a Gucci handbag and a Tom Ford. This is not 2015!”

By this point my prose was flowing as smoothly as a day-old plate of Jungle Oats. But it got worse. Because she had an assortment of Apple products with her (two iPhones, two iPads, a Macbook and some other shiny contraption I didn’t recognise) she would scream at the waitress to come and hover over her table to keep watch whenever she went to the bathroom.

And she had a bladder the size of a gnat’s kidney: she got up about four times in a 90-minute period.

The point of the emotional rant above is not merely to ridicule a loud, snot-sniffing, tea-slurping poor soul who has no right of reply. That’s only 90% of my motivation. But I also want to discuss the phenomenon of people who annoy us by just being themselves.

Quite frankly, my annoyance was not really the fault of my fellow customer. She was just being herself: fabulously rich, with sinus and urinary tract problems. The problem was with me.

This epiphany hit me on a recent flight to Cape Town. I had a middle seat, with a close-up view of a gentleman with a head the size of a medium potato and ears the size of banana leaves. Not only did he say nothing to me or anyone else throughout flight, he did nothing that would annoy any rational being except resembling Douglas Wambaugh from the 90s TV series, Picket Fences.

By the time we flew over the Kimberley Big Hole, I was looking at the back of this man’s head and wishing him untold miseries at the hands of ISIS interrogators. And he hadn’t done a thing to me.

There are public figures that peo- ple just love to hate. I’m not convinced this is due to their utterances, politics or deeds. Often, it’s just a fuzzy quality called “demeanour”. Sure, Kanye West is an egotistical penis-head. But I bet if Chris Rock and not Kanye had grabbed that mic from Taylor Swift at the Grammys, most people would have brushed it off: “That Chris Rock is such a kidder!”

But Kanye has that sullen, unlikeable face. Liking him is difficult. But he can’t change his face.

Ditto Tony Leon. I don’t think he was a worse DA leader than any of his predecessors, and yet I found myself wanting to throw tiny pebbles at my TV screen whenever he was on it. For no rational reason.

There’s a lot of Blade Nzimande

Kanye has that sullen, unlikeable face. Liking him is difficult. But he can’t change his face Since the Lord wasn’t helping me, maybe the waitress could. Could I move to another table?

hatred going around right now. This has far less to do with his politics than it has to do with his rodent face and high-pitched, whiny voice. What is a Blade to do? Exhume Barry White and get a vocalcord transplant?

I guess the point of all this is to ask you this — who annoys you for no good reason? LS E-mail lifestyle@sundaytimes.co.za On Twitter @NdumisoNgcobo