Hell is other people - Lil' Chatty Cathy

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Finally, the sun has come out.

You've walked the dog, you have mud all over your shoes and your jeans, but thank God, the dog is prepared to sleep quietly in the car. You find somewhere to park (a miracle!), you find a restaurant with a table outside that is free (another miracle!). You have your sunglasses on, you're ready for some major chillaxing.

And then the Perky Interrogator arrives.

She isn't satisfied with just taking your order.

No.

She wants to chat.

She wants make inane obvious comments about the weather.

She interrogates you on how you have been spending this glorious day.

She has to explain how one type of bread is finished so she'll be bringing you another - like you care.

Her lack of empathy borders on the sublime.

She doesn't take the hint of the monosyllabic answers that border on the impolite.

She is blissfully ignorant of the extreme imperative of moving her ass so you can get your much needed, refreshing Mojito.

She seems unaware that, the sooner she gets out of your face, the sooner she can tend to the other tables, which are all also waiting.

Her voice is as high as her perky tits and her ponytail, and you start to fantasize about the various ways you could kill her.

Her smile is as wide as her rosy cheeks will allow, and you start to think about how far the barman would be in making your Mojito right now if she had just gone away and given him the order.

When your drink finally comes, you slurp it down so fast it makes you burp audibly. You are so wound up by this stage that you need another, but that would mean talking to her again...

Hell is other chatty people.