Whether I hate a question or not depends on context.
If I'm trying to remain focused on some intricate task at hand and someone tries to get my attention I'll hate the interruption, the question, and the person, in equal measure, at least at that moment.
For the most part I don't care about questions.
One of my faves is when someone walks up to me while I'm doing a sketch or painting outdoors and says, "Did you do that?"
I get that it's meant to be a conversation opener, but unless uttered by a child of less than 10, it indicates to me that your IQ is less that that of a deceased decapitated rabbit.
I've got the pencil in hand, the pad in my lap. Who else is likely responsible for the atrocity on the page? Perhaps interdimensional beings from the gamma quadrant have drawn it and placed it on the pad mere nanoseconds before you slithered up?