Yammer, Yammer, Yammer

It's 1 PM and we just pulled into the RV park.  I've been up since 5:30 AM, been driving for 5 hours, towing the RV through strange towns with poor signage, many road construction areas, and so on.  I'm beat.

Ambient temperature is 101 degrees, inside of RV is an oven, need to get A/C going asap.  First, I need to get the rig backed up just right.  Fit it into the narrow campsite, with enough room to extend all 3 slides and the awning.  Then, I have to unhitch the truck, hook up the utilities.  Finally: grab a cold brew, sit down, mellow out.

Enter Mr Yammer, stage right - our next door neighbor.

"The best way to get into your site is to cross the road there, and back straight in."
No shit?  I never would have figured that out by myself.  What a guy!
"I've been here 7 years, bought a new trailer last year."
Go away.
"Boy, that's a pretty trailer you got there."
 Thanks.  How about you shut the f___ up?
"Wow, great looking pickup, too."
 Good grief.
"This a great place to live.  I really like it here."   
Piss off, for cripes sakes!

He yammers on.  And on.  And on.  He's about 65 years old and single, typical of the breed.  Lives alone (duh!).  You'd think by now he'd realize his constant blather is boring, not to mention irritating.  But, no.  Never has.  Never will.

Mostly I ignore the yammerers, hoping they get the hint.  They never do.  They live to yammer and bore the living hell out of everyone that has the misfortune to be stuck in their vicinity.  Motor-mouths and blatherskites.  They drive me nuts.

Trish is more gracious and patient than I - not that it would take much.  Male yammerers greatly outnumber females but Trish attracted a female type in Bend.  The woman strolled up to Trish, who was outside working on a quilting project.  It was lunch time and Trish was getting ready to come inside for a bite.  Couldn't believe she listened to Ms Yammer for 45 minutes before she came inside, rolling her eyes.