Digging for Gold

I was in line at a counter of a small chicken restaurant near my apartment when a pretty petite girl with a loud voice walked in, chatting on a cellphone, while an older, less pretty friend followed behind. While those of us in line weren't exactly eavesdropping, the small cramped space, and her extraordinarily loud voice (I mean, seriously, how can someone that small have a voice that loud?), made it difficult for any of us not to overhear the general movement of her conversation with the person on her phone. She went straight to the farthest table from the cashier, which made it all the more extraordinary that we could still hear her as if she was right next to us.

She was explaining something when she walked in. From what I gathered, the person on the other line was either her boyfriend or husband.

"Baby," she purred in a really fake American accent, "Are you sick? Because you sound sick."

"Oh you are? Poor baby. Your voice still sounds sexy though."

At that point, we were all looking at each other, trying not to laugh. The cashier smiled a small knowing smile directed my way, and I smiled back. I looked out the window, trying to block her voice from my head.

"I said," she shouted, "YOUR VOICE STILL SOUNDS SEXY." I winced at the sudden noise. I resolved to try harder to block her voice. The two girls in front of me were starting to giggle. I stifled the small chuckle that rose in my throat.

Their conversation continued with the sexiness of her baby's voice as the recurring theme until I found myself alone eating my roast chicken, salsa, and tortilla in the restaurant. Then the topic abruptly shifted.

"So, baby, are you still flying to Hong Kong? The trip is still on right?"

"Right, Hong Kong. Yes baby. I said HONG KONG."

"Great baby, I'll see you there definitely. Get well baby. Stay sexy," she shouted. Then she hung up. She took off her wide framed dark sunglasses, shook her hair and made a funny face at her companion. She looked prettier without her shades, though she did put too much red on her cheeks.

"Wheee," she exclaimed, "I'm going to Hong Kong!" Her friend smiled back.

"I told you about this guy, remember?" she shouted in Filipino, oblivious to the fact that the whole restaurant staff, as well as I, could hear her, or that her friend was a meter away, and could hear her well enough without her shouting. "He's the guy who didn't want to send me money at first when I told him I wanted to go to Hong Kong, so I started ignoring him. When I stopped chatting with him on the net, and receiving his calls, he texted me that he was going to send money for our trip. I ignored the first text, but he was persistent, and after several texts, I sent him my account number."

"He couldn't help it. He sent me the money soon enough. He was just playing hard-to-get." She chuckled softly, if a little maniacally. Her laughter reminded me of a witch's cackle actually. It was kind of disorienting seeing it come from such a pretty face.

Her friend smiled and said something I didn't quite catch. She replied, "No of course not. I already told my husband I'm going with someone else. That should be ok. He wouldn't know." I noted the exchange. The guy on the phone was apparently not her husband.

Then she walked up to the counter, and asked her friend if she wanted anything. They realized that the place served nothing but chicken, and they wanted fruit. They left without ordering anything to move to the supermarket next door. I relished finishing my meal in the calm tranquility that followed in their wake. I also felt sorry for the poor bastards who fail to realize the intelligent craftiness of some remarkable, if morally-dubious, women that remain hidden behind a pretty face.

Photo taken here.