I hate bustlers. No, it’s not a euphemism for something dirty – I’m talking about those annoying people that you can hear approaching when they’re still halfway down the passage. Everything about them shouts, “look how busy I am”: They always move just that little bit faster than normal people; they always manage to brush against walls, partitions, plants, furniture etc. as they go past (got to take the optimum route, naturally) and they like to wear noisy clothing like wind-cheaters and corduroy pants.
We have a pair of bustlers in the office. One of them is simply annoying, because when she’s in the vicinity, I find myself unconsciously tracking her progress as she bustles her busy way around. I find it quite difficult to focus on my work until she’s buggered off out of my section. The other is tooth-grindingly annoying, because I can hear him bustling noisily down the corridor from a l-o-o-o-n-g way off and the effect is something like the approach of a train made out of brown paper and nylon. The thing that lifts him out of the league of merely mediocre bustlers, into the Grand Master category, is his habit of bludgeoning the (open) door of my office with his meaty fist as he marches in. If he was going to come in without an invitation anyway, why the hell does he feel this ridiculous need to ‘knock’?
Unfortunately, Mr Champion Bustler is a 2 metre tall monster weighing in at about 120 kg. He could turn me into sausage paste as easily as looking at me, so my genetic predisposition toward pain avoidance prevents me from making this into an ‘issue’. Where’s that damned gum guard?