If I could have any super-power, it would be the power to exit gracefully from boring conversations. This would be useful not only at the bus-stop, where I regularly get cornered by homeless gentlemen and lunatics, but also at work. Take Sunday night f'rinstance. Twice I allowed myself to be mired in conversations, tar-baby style; every polite verbal wiggle away seems to suck me deeper in, despite my best effort. Getting away is harder than gift-wrapping a live octupus. Some are worse than others, of course. The roughneck biker who wanted to shoot a grizzly bear so we could make love on it's pelt was kind of a hoot. The fortyish Renaissance Fair dude going on about his magickal bardic powers and his descent from the kings of Sco'land was just basically boring the shit out of me -- a fact which his self-proclaimed powers of empathic precognition apparently did not pick up. I finally just stood up, smiled, and started to walk away in the middle of a sentence. "That's right, child," sez the Bard. "You must be careful lest you find my words too intoxicating."
I don't make this shit up, homies. I don't have to.