A lesson in social graces.

Towards the end of the row of cubicles that I work in sits a man we have dubbed "Professor Pointless."
The Prof. means well, but misses social cues. He's not mentally inferior, rather he's rather sharp. He simply fails to notice that the topics he cares to discuss hold no interest for those around him. When the parties being spoken towards grow weary of conversing with the Prof. the usual indications of wanting to end the conversation come into play. Monosyllabic responses, looking away, pretending to work, commenting that they have places to be, etc. These actions signal to any socially acclimated person that the time for talk has reached it's end. For Professor Pointless it merely means that he must rally and truly delve into the meat of the topic he's sharing with everyone.
While the Professor will often strike up a conversation and dive in with gusto, more often than not he takes it upon himself to muscle into a conversation happening around him and divert it elsewhere. Like the shake of a rattlesnake's tail, or the low growl of an angry dog, dreaded is the phrase, "Now wait a minute..." As soon as these words are past his lips, all involved are doomed to a ride of senseless prattle. While conversing on the delicious (VERY DELICIOUS) nature of bourbon with a coworker that had formerly been a bartender, Professor Pointless (a man who does not drink and never has) decided to interject. "Now wait a minute..." Dammit...here it comes.

"So, you don't garden or farm, but you support drinking bourbon?" asked the Prof. I replied that I did indeed support drinking and enjoying bourbon.
The Professor proceeded to stretch as far as he could to turn this conversation to something of no consequence, "But you yourself have said that not only do you not like corn, the primary ingredient, but that you DO NOT garden nor would you care to! How could you say that and still like bourbon?"
"Well," I said, "bourbon consists of a very processed form of corn. I don't care to ingest corn in kernel form and I don't garden as it holds no interest for me. I do poorly with plants and don't like to work with soil and seed."
The Professor saw a chink no one else would logically think to exploit, "If you were to garden AND grow a small batch of corn, you could, in theory, make your own batch of bourbon. You've already said single barrel bourbons maintain the most robust and even flavors. If you did this you could drink something you brewed to your specifications!"
Allow me to step away from the dialog here and explain an immediate issue. Brewing is a difficult process requiring skill, equipment, time, and patience. I have none of these things. Furthermore, in the state in which I live private brewing is VERY frowned upon. Not only would I be making a fool's attempt to develop a finely crafted spirit but I would be doing it in an unsafe and illegal manner. The likelihood of me being able to make bourbon out of a small crop of corn grown by my hands is nonexistent. Professor Pointless would have been more realistic in his predictions if he had said, "Maybe your corn stalks will grow tall enough to reach a castle in the sky where you will find a sleeping giant and you can steal his golden harp."
After staring at the Prof. for several seconds with my jaw on the floor, I attempted to explain the issues with what he had just said. In response to my argument he made an astute observation, "You have to admit, corn and large scale crops of the like are a big driving force in part of our economy."
Having been caught completely off guard I hastily agreed. There was a gleam in his eye. I had just handed him the conversation... shit.
Professor Pointless took a deep breath through his wide nostrils and began to tell us about commerce and the economic practices of western Europe. This in turn went into a rant on the faltering nature of the American dollar. Now, these are certainly interesting and important conversations to have at some point. Let us not forget that this was at work and started as a conversation with a different coworker on the merits of the finest of American spirits.
There was no hope of salvaging this conversation. I began to employ the usual escape techniques. Sigh, single word response, look away, yawn, check email, etc. Nothing had an effect. A quick check of the clock indicated an upcoming lunch break. Here stood my chance! I stood and made a comment that I had to meet someone for lunch and that I hated to cut our conversation short but I really must be going.
Professor Pointless nodded and went to say "Enjoy your lunch." Actually, I assume that's what he went to say. Instead, he said "Oh! One more thing..." and continued talking. I stared in shock as he rambled on. My numbed mental state barely caught the only hope I had, he had paused to ask me a question!
Without even knowing what had been said I responded with, "Oh, yes, indeed. To be certain. I am afraid I absolutely MUST use the restroom however. Lets continue this conversation when I return." I spun on my heel and fled as quick as my booted feet could carry me.

This would happen time and again. Each time the conversation would be swayed to Prof Pointless and his areas of skill and knowledge. He is an intelligent man... he's just not aware of his own nature.
After many hijacked conversations with coworkers I finally went mostly silent. My already alienating nature became that much more icy and distant. What at-work conversations I had took place over messengers. Unless a technical question concerning our job was presented to me I did not speak to those around me. Now instead of having my conversations pushed aside for a lesson, I could listen to other coworkers experience it.
While White Trash conversed with others about collecting retro gaming systems Professor Pointless readied his salvo of conversation killers. Both ears open and eyes glued to the screen, I waited for that test shot. It would catch White Trash off guard. He would stumble, trip, twirl and wind up pulled into a conversation about the nature of tobacco and squash as staple crops in colonial America. Professor Pointless would attempt to teach and White Trash would remain confused and uninformed.
I didn't have to speak. I wasn't being spoken to. The conversation was sure to be a circle of failure. I smiled. If I had the capacity, I would have wept with joy.