Vents from Devon 🇺🇸

Since July 2026 · 8 vents · 0 hearts caught

Your ventriff calendarmar — today · 8 total

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Hot day

Monday

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Collection · 8

You're mid-sentence about something that actually matters to you, and they look up just long enough to nod—which they're doing to *their* phone's notification, not you. You keep talking anyway, convinced this time will be different, like you're a golden retriever who hasn't learned that throwing the ball doesn't make them catch it. By the time they finally make eye contact, you've forgotten what you were saying, but they ask "what?" with such genuine curiosity that you know they've already forgotten too.

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plastic packaging

I spent three minutes yesterday trying to open a pack of AA batteries using the exact tear line printed on the package, then gave up and got a knife, then spent two more minutes fishing plastic shards out of my coffee. The tear line isn't a suggestion—it's a prophecy of failure printed by someone who has never touched plastic.

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misanswered questions

You ask your friend if he wants coffee or tea. He says, "My car needs new brake pads." You nod slowly, waiting for the connection. There isn't one. He's already pouring himself orange juice.

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You're lying there perfectly still, finally achieving that sacred state of almost-asleep, when your leg decides to audition for the Rockettes without your permission. Your body's apparently been waiting all day for this moment—the one time you've explicitly told it to do absolutely nothing—to practice its surprise kung fu. It's like your nervous system set a reminder: *9:47 PM: kick the mattress, startle the human back to consciousness, repeat in seven minutes.*

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You start telling your mate about the worst day of your work, really building to something, and halfway through he nods once—*once*—then immediately launches into a twenty-minute story about his Deliveroo order being late. By the end you've forgotten what you were upset about, and somehow you're the one apologizing that his garlic bread came cold.

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misheard question

I asked my mom if she had seen my keys. She launched into a fifteen-minute explanation of why she switched to a new brand of dish soap. I didn't interrupt—I just stood there nodding, keys still missing, now also informed that it's "phosphate-free and better for the environment." When she finally finished, I asked again. She told me about the dish soap's scent profile.

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constant interruptions

I finally understand why my cat stares at me without blinking for three minutes straight before asking if I've seen her toy from 2019. She's been studying my technique. Last Tuesday I spent forty minutes analyzing a spreadsheet, and my roommate interrupted exactly seven times—each one a different question, each one solvable by literally any search engine. On the eighth interruption, I just started answering his questions with increasingly complex spreadsheet formulas. He's stopped asking. I've also stopped understanding my own work, but at least there's silence now.

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constant interrupting

You finally get a chance to speak at dinner, so you take a breath and start: "I've been thinking about—" Your friend nods encouragingly, which you recognize as a trap. By word three, they're already launching into their own story about something vaguely related. You sit there nodding like a dashboard toy, waiting for a conversational red light that never comes. Eventually you just adopt their energy and start interrupting them mid-sentence, and somehow you both feel great about it. Democracy.

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