A scumbag, a windbag and a douchebag walk into a bar.
Just a regular Thursday at my local. We regulars glance at the door as each arrives, dismay or resignation crossing many faces. If I notice early enough, I will try to escape. Sometimes, for a while, I can deflect them by looking really busy with my phone, but that is only ever temporary protection.
The scumbag (who sometimes brings his mate, the ratbag) is not so hard to protect against. Just never trust what he says, avoid shouting him drinks (unless you want to donate to his personal finances), and avoid making insults even in jest. He can be funny in a cynical, defeated, nasty sort of way. But he can turn suddenly, so it's best never to let your guard down. Finish the drink and then say, 'Okay, have a good night. Gotta see a friend about my car.'
The windbag is easier still; just try to steer the conversation to something you don't mind hearing about. At length. Escape is usually possible after a 'decency' period of about 10 minutes of listening to what is often little more than a whinge, without you getting a word in. As you slide off the stool, slide in a quick, 'Oh well, shit happens. Gotta run, have to see a mate about my car.' He will wonder: 'You do seem to have a lot of trouble with that car.' But keep moving, 'Yeah, it keeps happening.'
But the douchebag. Ugg. Massively irritating and hard to escape.
He boxes you in your seat standing too close with his arms akimbo. Even his popped collar is irritating. And he's not so easy to get rid of with reports of car trouble. The douchebag knows exactly what is wrong with my car, and insists on telling me how to repair it with step by step instructions, and also insists that I must be causing this problem by riding the clutch, but then adds that it is a known weakness in that model as the original design for those Japanese cars was never been fully tested in Australian conditions. Et. Bloody. Cetera.
He is so busy demonstrating his seemingly endless knowledge, he totally ignores my body language screaming that I want to be just about anywhere else.
Eventually, one of the bar staff comes over to collect the empties and the douchebag is forced to move slightly when she reaches through, so I slip through the space and start walking, speaking with my head turned back to my old, no longer comfortable seat, 'That might be handy that information. See ya next time. Gotta go...'
Next Thursday, I'll try the other pub.
What makes the douchebag so utterly annoying?
And why doesn't the douchebag know he is one?