The Clandestine Narrator

For my own entertainment, I make a habit of narrating the scenes outside my car windows, often with high-pitched or moronic voices. Usually I do this alone and while the car is moving. So, usually, there's no risk of anyone hearing me.

The problem (and I'm sure you can sense the potential for disaster here) is that I get comfortable in my little bubble universe and forget that sound waves can indeed pass through the not-hermetically-sealed environment of my car.

Case in point: I'm sitting in my workplace parking lot (Which is already a scene of past embarrassment. You'd think I'd learn.) finishing up a Blimpie's Best, when I see a guy hop (or fall, really) out of his pickup truck and start to strut toward the building entrance. And when I say strut, I mean it. You all know the type of walk I'm talking about. The sort of "please-think-I'm-cool" speed-saunter which I think is intended to project importance. Or bigness, or something. I'm not sure. I can't help but think of threatened blowfishes who've gone all puffy when I see such spectacles.

Anyway, this guy is sashaying across the parking lot, and I naturally provide some acapella circus music as background. Which makes the whole thing even more funny, at least to me. About the time he passes in front of my car, he draws his phone from its holster to answer it. As he puts it to his ear, I call out in a high-pitched Doubtfire-esque voice: "Helllooooo! Why, Martha! So good to hear from you!"

He stopped walking, but kept talking on the phone, so I did, too:
"Oh, nooooo! Tea would be wonnnnderful! And bring your hat! Yes, yes, the fuzzy one!"

And when he hangs up:
"Ta-Ta, Mumsie! Love to your dogs!"

Except now, he doesn't keep walking to the building, he turns to look at me in the car, favoring me with his best sneer of disgust.

So, he heard me. Oh well. I tried to remain reactionless, and just stare at him from behind sunglassed-eyes, doing my best "dangerous skinhead" imitation, hoping he might second guess himself. You know, maybe believe it was more likely such a voice came from his own "inner Julia," rather than from the large bald man in the parking lot.

Comments

[Strut]

I *knew* that was you, baldy. You'll be sorry. And for your information, it wasn't Martha. It was Gertie. And she wasn't inviting me to tea. She was asking me if I could watch her parakeet while she vacations in Bora Bora.

You'll never have friends like that.

[sxtxixtxcxh]

haha! i do the same thing, only i'm more aware of how much sound leaks through my bronco... i've also got a couple of 12" subwoofers to help mask any vocalizations that may escape.