The Soft Talker

I’m sitting here at Whole Foods, attempting to enjoy my minestrone soup, when all I keep hearing is the quiet conversation of a woman sitting on my right. She clearly has a sore throat and is quickly losing her voice. However, this isn’t stopping the woman from speaking in a nearly unbearable voice that is bugging the holy living shit out of me.

I want to believe her lack of a voice is not from a cold, but the direct result of sucking down three packs of Marlboro Reds every day for the past 40 years, chasing each savory puff with a swig of Jack. She definitely has the leathery, yellow skin to prove my theory.

Her raspy discourse is really getting on my nerves. And the woman lunching with her doesn’t seem to mind this paused form of conversation.

I want to turn to my right and shout: “We’re in a natural foods store for God’s sake! Save your voice and buy some organic cough drops! You are literally driving me mad!”

I just hope her germs don’t find their way to my table. The last thing I want is to lose my voice.

Actually, let me rephrase that. The last thing I want is for her to stay at the table next to me for the remainder of my lunch hour.

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