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.
