Famous, powerful people are known to make grand entrances. It is part of the gig. But Trump’s way of lurching into a room is inseparable from his propensity for creating chaos and obliterating meaning. “Thank you very much, thank you very much,” he booms as he steps into the United Nations lobby. He seems to be addressing this thanks to everyone in the room, as if all those present have just burst into applause. (They haven’t.) He is merely Being Trump, doing what he does when he shows up anyplace, whether it’s a meeting of the Group of 7 or a wreath-laying commemoration at Arlington National Cemetery or a Super Bowl party at Mar-a-Lago: subjugating the entire purpose of the event to his own ego and id. It is a demeanor that announces that if anything is going to get done today, it will happen in spite, probably in defiance, of the president of the United States.

Trump wound up attending the climate meeting for about 15 minutes. There were more pressing matters to attend to. He posted on Twitter a dozen times that day, including tweets mocking Mitt Romney, Joe Biden and Adam Schiff. He also directed a trolling tweet at Thunberg: “She seems like a very happy young girl looking forward to a bright and wonderful future. So nice to see!”

We are not “all Greta Thunberg,” but all of us know what it’s like to be ambushed by Donald Trump. He pops up on your social media feed with hateful words and impulsive policy announcements. He flickers on TV screens in bus terminals and airport departure lounges, forever looming over your shoulder. He barges unbidden into your dreams. It is a condition of being alive in America in 2019. No matter who you are or what you’re trying to accomplish, whether you’re a 16-year-old working to save the planet or an ordinary citizen trying to make it through the day with some peace of mind intact, you will inevitably confront the specter of Trump, drifting into the frame in a cloud of disorder and bad vibes. Even the president’s most dedicated enablers scan the sky warily, awaiting today’s cyclone, the next reckless, capricious twist of the plot. The door swings open, the president enters, all heads turn. The camera whips around, and suddenly, everything else — better angels, higher ideals, common decency, common sense, beauty, truth — blurs into the background.