All right, kids, today we’re going to talk about a systemic problem plaguing anyone who has written anything. It doesn’t matter if your medium is pen and paper, a word processor or that thing phones do where they send messages without talking, which doesn’t make sense because it’s a phone, you’re supposed to talk into it, if I wanted to get poorly punctuated run-on sentences I would get a telegraph machine [FULL STOP].
Anyway, what I was trying to say is that no matter who you are, you have at some point dealt with the Over-The-Shoulder-Reader.
You see, there exists a condition where ordinarily normal people, when exposed to someone in the process of writing, suddenly develop an uncontrollable urge to participate in the process. In more severe cases, this symptom is coupled with severe halitosis and a complete ignorance of the concept of personal space.
Just imagine that you’re trying to write a concise and well-reasoned argument about how the film “The Human Centipede” is evidence that Western Civilization has uttered its last feeble dying breath, and suddenly the warm raspy mouth-breathing feeling on the back of your neck alerts you that someone has succumbed to the deadly condition.
“Right there,” says the infected individual, pointing over your shoulder. “Butthole is spelled with two t’s.”
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
“Oh, I heard typing and then…well, I kind of blacked out and now I’m here, breathing garlic breath down the back of your neck and reading about.. what? Did you actually see this movie?”
“No, I just watched the trailer on IMDB and then stabbed out my eyeballs with a spork so I could never see anything so stupid again in my life.
“Wait, the mad scientist really stitches their…wow, that sure is an awkward topic to write about.”
“Yeah, Dad. Yeah, it is.”
“Well, I think I’ll just continue standing here and being your father while you write about a mad scientist sewing peoples’ faces and butts together to form a centipede, which incidentally reminds me of a college prank I pulled involving a roll of duct tape and some frat brothers of mine that had passed out…”
But the awkwardly reminiscent parent is only the tip of the iceberg. The following is a list of all the common variants of the Over-The-Shoulder-Reader that I have so far encountered. Counter measures are few and untested, but in an effort to know your enemy, I recommend that you familiarize yourself with the following:
The Editor: By far the most common, this particular Over-The-Shoulder-Reader ignores the content of your writing to dissect your punctuation practices with fascist precision. Extreme cases are known to actually hijack the keyboard in order to rectify a misplaced comma.
The One-Upper: “Oh, I had something exactly like what you just wrote happen to me, only I was on a speed boat, and there were like, five supermodels standing there, and then this great white shark jumped out of the water and got struck by lighting.”
The Silent Lurker: Perhaps the most awkward of all Over-The-Shoulder-Readers, the Silent Lurker is not known for his obnoxious critiquing or editing, but rather his inescapable and enduring presence. Where other Over-The-Shoulder-Readers may eventually be worn down, or distracted by shiny objects dragged into other rooms by strings, the Silent Lurker remains quietly reading for days on end. A typical Silent Lurkers interaction goes something like this:
Silent Lurker: “Hey, what are you up to?”
You: “Oh, just writing that Great American Novel I’m always talking about.”
Silent Lurker: “Oh.”
Seasons come and go, presidential administrations change and still the Silent Lurker remains.
Publisher: “Well, Mr. Cavin, we’re pleased to say that Spike Testosterone and the Planet of Hot Blue Alien Babes is on the New York Times best seller list. We’d like to option for a sequel.”
You: “Awesome!”
Publisher: “By the way, who is that guy behind you?”
Silent Lurker: “Eh, it was all right.”
Now if you’ll excuse me, my dad is still WHAT? HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO UNCLE CARL? IT DOESN’T MATTER IF HE CAN’T REMEMBER! YES, I KNOW I’M WRITING IN ALL CAPS!