Every now and then you just hear one of those awesome lines that is so gritty and real it amazes you.
Lines that are too real to be in a movie.
“I hope that whore gives you a aids!” is one of them.
Its a phrase that, when combined with both a high, shrill voice that has a gravelly quality to it that almost sounds like a furious muppet.
I just left Starbucks to walk down the street to work and walking in front of me is a sight to see.
She is about my height, and I am a short man. Although I am kind of thick, which translates to heavy, she may outweigh me by a good fifty pounds.
Dolphin shorts went out of style in the 80’s but she is determined to rock them back into style.
And though I might disagree that a shorty denim jacket clashes, what do I know? (Project runway sucks, by the way.)
I have no idea who is on the cell phone she has clutched to her ear, but her anger is a palpable thing. I might vote for an ex husband to be on the phone, but who knows?
I am now following her like a lemming.
“I don’t care where you go when you are with her!”
Every sentence is clipped and angry, with that shrill grating voice.
She has so much passion in her hatred that, to me, it is flat out exhausting. I am not on the phone, but, as always, I have the coffee to keep me going.
Why not hang up? Either one of them?
Who stays on the phone for this abuse? Why would she stay on the phone for this kind of anxiety? These are all legitimate questions that I may never get answers to. I doubt she would tell me and I really don’t want to bother her
Every now and then I get lazy and forget that I am the only one in on my little game here, the whole listening in thing.
Angry chick is stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, glaring at me.
“What the hell do you want?” She has her phone down at her side. Whoever is on the phone is no doubt viewing this as a refreshing break in the action.
Now back to me, because this isn’t refreshing at all.
“Why are you following me?” Chubby little hands are now on her hips, the escalation has begun.
I have heard of men in moments of extreme pressure uttering things that make little sense. Its a reaction to stress.
Before she could say anything else, I blurted the first thing that came to mind.
“Miss, can I talk to you about God?”
She froze. Her face changed. It didn’t necessarily soften, but that maniacal gleam in her eye faded away and I was no longer worried she would kick me in the balls. (Balls, if I meant testicles I would have said testicles.)
“No thank you.” Her tone was not angry. Her face relaxed.
She turned away and walked off. I could hear her voice as she put the phone back up to her ear.
“Sorry, Tom, I was having a rough morning when you called.”
I scurried off to work, totally amazed.
The lord works in mysterious ways.