Do You Speak?
This morning, I was waiting for my coffee at Starbucks when a woman came up to me and asked, “Is there where we wait for the coffee?” I took a moment to wonder how she did not know how Starbucks worked, since I refuse to believe anyone who lives in America hasn’t been to Starbucks at least a handful of times, and responded, “Yes.”
I then took another moment to think about how this woman’s hair looked like a helmet, and how she reminded me of a professor I had a couple years ago who encouraged us to give pot brownies to the Kinko’s employees who helped us print our final projects. She also reminded me of death and despair, because as society will tell you, women over 40 are pretty much the Grim Reaper, and she was probably at least in her mid-50s, so she’s basically a giant flashing “GAME OVER” screen on an 80s arcade game, right?
The woman, apparently impressed with my “Yes,” told me that I have a lovely voice. I thanked her, and she followed up by asking if I sing. I told her, “No, not really,” because although I had just finished singing at the top of my lungs to “Your Body” in my car, I didn’t really consider that singing. Then she asked me, “Do you speak?”