Questions that drive you mental

In My Humble Opinion
41

I posted these in another thread, but they bare repeating. My father is fisheries technician, so our family lives at a fish hatchery. Invariably, I get “Does it smell like fish?” and “Do you have to feed the fish?” NO, and NO. I don’t work there moron, my dad does, so no, I don’t feed the fish. And we don’t live in the damn hatchery, we live in a house on the grounds that does not smell of fish, so shuddup already!

Since I happen to be overweight, and a manic depressive, I particularly love these next two. “Why don’t you just eat less and exercise more?” What the hell makes you think I am an overeater and a lazy ass? And about my depression: “Why don’t you just suck it up and drive on?” Because its a chemical imbalance in my head you insensitive dolt!

When I tell people I’m American Indian (I have very fair skin and light brown hair): “Really? You don’t look very indian.” Would it help if I had on warpaint, a headdress, and some buffalo skin chaps?

And last but not least . . . “English major, huh? What can you do with that?” I can write scathing SDMB posts about what a gravy-sucking twit you are! :mad:

(I really need to stop letting people get under my skin.)

42

“You don’t eat vegetables? What none at all? You eat peas, though, right? And mashed potatoes. Right? Really? What about rice? Everyone eats rice. You don’t eat rice?? No wonder you’re so skinny!”

sigh

Telling them I don’t eat fruit, cakes, and not much of anything else, just sends them into a frenzy of food lists.

43

OK, just to set the record straight, most Idahoans do not raise potatos!!! And although the great state of Idaho does produce some great potatos, that’s not even our largest crop, sugarbeets are. (I however grew up on a cattle ranch. :slight_smile: )

Also, to anyone from Northern Idaho or Western Montana, just because I am from southern Idaho does not mean I am LDS.

44

“How do you pronounce that?” (Referring to my last name). I, with a sense of dread, tell them, leading to the inevitable 2 minute conversation about what a weird name it is. Yes, I know. Would you like me to ask the questions along with you? I could, you know.

I live in a building that used to be the manager’s office for the apartment complex I live in. In between semesters, we get probably a dozen people a week who make it past the “This is not the manager’s office” signs hanging up outside and pound on our door. “Is this the manager’s office?” they ask. Yes, you dolt. That’s why there’s a 20 something guy lying on the couch playing Playstation 2 games. That’s why the coffee table is covered with junk mail and dirty dishes. That’s why there’s a broken chair on the deck behind you. That’s why it looks as if the floor hasn’t been vaccuumed in a year (it hasn’t, actually). “No,” I say if I’m feeling polite. This leads to them asking if I know where the manager’s office is. There is none. What do I mean, they cry. I mean there’s no office. These are now condos. They then completely ignore the fact that I am not, in fact, the manager, and ask how they can rent an apartment. At this point, I get pissy and suggest they talk to someone that owns one of the condos. Few dolts make it past this point. Those that do ask if I know how they can get ahold of the owners. I then suggest that they try randomly knocking on the condo doors and bothering those residents. They usually get the point then.

I’m also studying genetics, and get the usual vaguely frightened questions about what I plan to do with that degree. My favorite answer is “I want to play God.” That shuts them up.

45

“Do you perm your hair?”

Sure. I wear ratty-ass jeans, old t-shirts with (sometimes exceptionally) offensive phrases, and a mohawk. Obviously, I am so concerned about my appearance (or such a Michael Bolton fan) that I get my hair permed. WTF? Is it so unlikely that my hair is naturally wavy?

I HATE saying the obvious thing. I once exclaimed to my friend, whom I hadn’t seen in a year, “You cut your hair!” I berated myself for the rest of the week.

46

Okay, I’ve been lurking for a while, but this is my first post. Here goes.

I’m somewhat unusual looking even by NYC standards, so I do get a lot of questions. I like questions, it shows people like to learn. However, I have a list of idiot questions:

“How do you get your hair that color?”
I dye it, what did you think?

“Wow, is your hair blue?”
No. My hair is purple. Very purple. And there’s lots of it, you can’t possibly mistake the color. How’s the color adjustment on your TV?

“Is your hair color/eye color natural?”
I get this from biologists! Now I know that there are a very few people out there with natural violet eyes, but hair? I got in the habit of telling people my father was a peacock. One scientist called me on this, and I explained that peacocks have 23 chromosomes just like humans, so the first generation is viable but sterile. He walked away confused.

From people who met me as a purple hair freak, just finding out I’m soon to get a PhD in Genetics: “Oh, doesn’t that mean you’re smart?”
Yes, I am intelligent. No, I am not enough of an ass to just say that in casual conversation. Why are you so shocked that I’m not a film major? (not saying that doesn’t take brains) Has anyone on this board, including the two other geneticists I noticed posting, found a way to answer this question without it looking like either arrogance (yes, I am) or false modesty (aw shucks, not really)?

Oh, and some replys to previous posts: I have an Apache name, and people ask me what it means all the time. It means mischievous, hence the screen name. This leads to the reverse problem as SINsApple, where people assume I am Apache even though I am EXTREMELY pale and have none of the characteristic physical traits.

I especially hate it when a child asks its parent about some aspect of my appearance (hair, eyes, scars, clothes, whatever) and the parent presumes to answer on my behalf. If you don’t know, just say you don’t know! Maybe, if I’m in a good mood, you can send your kid over to ask me himself. If not, don’t inflict your prejudices on him in front of me!

mischievous

47

My mother has jet black hair, and my father has brown hair. I have red hair. So you can guess what the question is.

How come you have red hair and your parents and sisters don’t? - Everone thinks that mother was with the milkman or that I was adopted.

What I’d like to say:

Look, dipshit, if you took any form of biology, you would know that any parent can be carrier of any trait that is in the family.

  • 80% of the people on my fathers side have red hair!
48

I’m 6’5" and get asked that a lot too. I also get asked if I played football (I’m around 280 lbs), and if I bump my head on stuff all the time (occasionally, but you learn to duck).

49

Yep you also get to breed mice with ears on their back :smiley:

I tend to get questions like wow that sounds hard/difficult followed by a very impressed look.

::cut to picture of Catmarie being worshipped by said person :wink: ::

50

They will.

“Are you you analysing me?” No, I’m having a conversation with you. Am I thinking about you? Yes. I tend to do that with people I converse with. Go figure.

“Hey, you could write a thesis about me. All my friends tell me I’m pretty crazy.” Yeah, you’re the craziest person I’ve ever met. Somebody call the loony bin.

“So, can you, like, tell what people are thinking?” Yes. Yes, I can.

51

Well, my response last night must have gotten swallowed up in cyberspace, so here it goes again.

Eutychus55 - I know how you feel. My daughter has motor delays due to a left side weakness, so I know there are questions that people don’t ask. I wish all the best for your family.

My daughter also has red hair,which she gets from her Lithuanian great-grandfather. Since neither I, my husband or my other two kids have red hair, that’s the obvious question. In fact she’s so attuned to it, that when someone asks “where did you get your red hair” she turns her head away and says “not again!” (she’s three, btw).

Every so often, though, someone will say “well, she’s never going to learn to walk if you’re always carrying her.” I really want to respond with something clever like “gee, you must know something the neurologist doesn’t know. He thinks she isn’t walking because she had a brain hemmorrhage.”

52

Euty and Rally, I feel your pain. My brother has fetal alcohol effects. When this comes up in conversation, people get this blank look on their faces, and I have to launch into this defensive diatribe explaining that he’s adopted and, no, my mother is not an alcoholic or a drug user. I can just see their brains working into a tizzy of what a horrible person my mum is and what a shame for my brother and me…Arrrgh!

regaining composure
[sup]Sorry 'bout that![/sup]

53

Here are a few for you:

“Are those your real eyes?”

No, mine are in the shop, these are loaners. (I have eyes that change color constantly from blue to green to brown to gray and sometimes develop gold specks)

“Did you get your eyes from your mother or father?”

My brother gave them to me for my 5th birthday.

“Is it true what they say about Texans?”

Yes, we do enjoy killing people

“Do you really have 4 names?”

No, but I thought it would be better than the barcode # my mom gave me at birth.

“Is that your brother?”

No, it is my sister in drag.

“Wow! You have 9 brothers and 2 sisters?”

No, I just said I had 2 baboons, 4 ostrichs and a bear w/ a bad case of crabs.

And the worst question to ever be asked…

After being racked: “Are you ok?”

No, but my testicles feel very warm inside my stomach.

54

The question I despise is: “What’s your book about?” I usually just hand them the book so they can read the flyleaf/back cover. This usually happens when I’m in the middle of reading and am not in the mood to answer it when they’ve just pulled me out of a good book.

55

[hijack]

A bit of reversal:

More years ago than I’d care to admit, I spent a very unpleasant December working for a department store in the young men’s department. I was a typical scrawnyish white guy. My favorite co-worker was a really nice Vietnamese immigrant woman named Thui. One day, after I came back from break, Thui turned to me and said: “Oh, one of the managers came by for you… oh, I forgot to get his name. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, well, what did he look like?”

Pause. Thui thought a moment, then sheepishly replied, “Well, I’m really sorry, but all middle-aged white men look kind of the same to me…”

I started laughing. Immediately she realized what she’d just said, and started laughing, too.

[/hijack]

Seriously, I suspect white people make that “all-alike” mistake only because the first things we look at in describing another white person are hair and eye color. Not that it takes much effort to learn to look at the shape of the face, etc., but I guess a lot of white people never quite get that concept.

56

Wow! You do run into some stupid people!!

57

Oh the irony. Please ignore that last post. I completely misread the quote.

Slinks off and hides

58

I guess this is more like questions & actions that drive me mental.

I HATE it when I’m walking down the street and absolute strangers approach me and say: “Oh, I LOVE your hair,” and then proceed to put their hands in it. Sometimes they ask my permission, but before I can respond, they put their hands in my hair. Ewwww. I feel so violated when people do that.

Get out of my hair!!! I didn’t grow it out for anyone but myself and those I give permission to to touch it. Is it just me, or does anyone else have this problem?

59

I have long wavy hair, down to about mid thigh. I hate the people that insist upon walking up to me and saying “Wow, your hair is so long!” No, really I hadn’t noticed, I’ve had it that length for the past 15 years of my life and I didn’t realize it until you pointed it out. Or the stupid questiond like “How do you wash it?” Grrr, I love the compliments but seriously people, please keep the stupidity to a minimum.

Kitty

60

Everytime someone comes into my place, the first thing they see (okay, it is almost the only thing to see) is piles and piles of books. On shelves, on the coffee table, on the couch and chairs, on the floor. Plus more in boxes that I can’t unpack for lack of room. The usual conversation is:

Them: “What do you do with all of these books?”
Me: “I read them.”
Them: “Have you really read all of them?”
Me: “Yes, on average, probably 3 or 4 times.”

Then it varies about either why do I reread them or why don’t I get rid of some of them.

And of course, the people at work who ask “What are you reading?” Even after almost 9 years there, they still haven’t figured out that when I am reading, I don’t want to be talking.