Some people spend their free time playing sports. Others spend it contemplating the mysteries and complexities of life. I, on the other hand, spend it lurking. That’s right, I lurk.
I’m not a creeper, a sneaker-upper, or a hider. Those people are losers. I’m a lurker, and I’m damn proud of it. Lurking is not the most complicated task in the world. Any idiot can do it. But can anyone do it well? Hardly. I am one of the few people who truly stands out as a lurker. Nobody can hunch their shoulders and stand in a dark corner looking around with shifty eyes as I can. I actually contemplated becoming a professional lurker, but apparently the pay isn’t too good.
Often times, my friends will confuse me with a hider or a sneaker-upper, and I have to correct them. One time, my friend Cotton McNally walked into a room and sat down to do some work. After five minutes he turned around and saw me standing in the corner with my shoulders hunched, looking around with my shifty eyes.
He said, “You scared me half to death! What were you doing hiding in the corner?”
I replied, “I wasn’t hiding, I was lurking. I lurk.” He didn’t understand and left the room in a huff. Most people don’t understand lurking, and leave rooms in a huff when they see me. That’s probably because most people have never encountered a truly proficient lurker like myself.
The one bad thing about lurking is that women don’t like people who lurk. It’s been 28 years since I’ve had sexual relations with a woman.
On second thought, lurking sucks.
Guest Columnist