Earlier, we blithely dismissed 75% of the world’s population (extraverts) as the “lower three quartiles.” That was unkind and we’re sorry. So what say we move on and try not to bash the extraverts? We apologize. Never mind that only one of us did the actual bashing. I’m sure none of us wants to point fingers.

The fact is, introverts comprise 3/4 of the highly gifted people in the world (the “upper three quartiles”). Something to do with all that silly thinking and reading and reflecting, I suppose. As a people, we are replete with smartitude. Not that there aren’t gifted extraverts, just a smaller percentage. And they can’t help being generally less gifted, any more than they can help being less sensitive, less reflective and more energy-sucking. There but for the grace of God go I’s.

Hmm. (Fingers tapping).

Oh to hell with it. What’s a cocktail party without a little trash-talking?

Extraverts talk too much. Let it hereby be known that “Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh,” is not our idea of contributing to the conversation, and edgewise is no way to fit words in. Introverts have something to say. Plenty. We’ve been doing a lot of thinking, you know. And most of the listening. We have opinions. Ideas. We might even dish some hot gossip about Miss Flugerman in Accounting if certain people would shut their pie holes and listen.

But extraverts thrive on talking. Put a bunch together in a room and you know what you get? The McLaughlin Group. All hopped-up on their own verbosity, interrupting each other, not listening and generally creating mayhem. My ex, an extravert, watched this show religiously. Every Sunday morning, the gentle peace of birds chirping and wind chimes blowing softly in the breeze was shattered by a televised version of the Tower of Babel. The cacophony was ungodly. (Incidentally, that other Babel turned out rather badly as I recall.)

The McLaughlin Group: my idea of hell.

To be fair, extraverts don’t seem to mind being interrupted – which introverts find rude and abhorrent – when someone else wants to speak. But it can be tricky. If you’d like to try this, just send a self-addressed stamped envelope to Still Waiting for a Pause in the Monologue to receive your free 2 x 4. Offer not valid in Washington D.C.

Just one more thing while we’re on the subject of talking and then we’ll save some snarkiness for next time: Book stores are not satellite office spaces, Mr. Guy-Who Makes-Sales-Calls-On-His-Cell-At-The-Borders-Coffee-Shop. Some of us are trying to read here.

NEXT: Extraverts don’t read.

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