I Wonder Why _____ Is Such a Pet Peeve of Mine?

I can’t stand it when people hover. Or lurk, or loiter, or dawdle. Near my office, over my shoulder in the kitchen, in a line at Target. You’d think it wouldn’t bother me—I love attention much more than the next gal, and hovering implies an interest in me and/or my current project. You’d. Be. Wrong.

There are all kinds of hovering, but they each irritate me equally. There’s the kind of hovering where someone will walk up to my office without coming in. Then he/she starts talking to me through the crack in my open door where the hinges are! Unbelievable. There’s the kind of hovering where someone will halfway walk into my office—but not far enough in for me to see him/her because my desk is parallel to the open door so there’s a sightline—and start talking to whomever is sitting in my office, usually without even acknowledging me. I can’t see this person, remember, and if it’s a student, I often don’t recognize him/her by voice alone. Then if the person leaves, I’ve been non-visited by a total stranger and I have no idea who it was! Supremely rude. There’s the kind of hovering that The Boy likes to do when I won’t let him help in the kitchen (cooking or cleaning) but he is smart enough to know that he’s not allowed to go away. That kind of hovering isn’t too bad, but it still makes my skin crawl when he stands two feet behind me, watching to see what I’m adding that’s not in the recipe. He always likes it when I add a little extra to our nachos or quiche or whatever, so calm down, dude! This is the type of hovering that is easily solved if I tell him to get a beer. Then he sits at the table and we chat and all is well—no stepping on his feet or accidentally elbowing him in the stomach. Everybody wins! Then there’s the worst kind of hovering: the kind a person does at the grocery store or another retail location. He/she will refuse to leave the checkout lane until the credit card is back in the wallet, the wallet is back in the pocket/purse, and the receipt is folded in eighths. Oops, the wallet comes back out so the receipt can go in the wallet, the wallet goes back in the pocket/purse, and then the customer in front of me has to check through every bag to make sure none of the items somehow escaped and are going to try to go home with me instead. Come on, lady! Move it along. Your shopping high isn’t going to last unless you leave this store and go to another one and spend money and exasperate other customers there!

This last one always happens when I’m only in line to get some contraband chocolate to take across the street to the movies and I’m running late.

Which, I’m sure, is a pet peeve of the manager of the movie theatre.