two very, very annoying chatterbox girls talking all about in-jokes, fashion, and boyfriends in law firms were in line at the sandwhich chain store down below the office where i work. i was there for the cheapest vegetarian lunch for miles around. i’m in line behind them and they kind of stopped what they were talking about to refer to the “weird guy… ew…lower your voice…” (deep in way-over-the-deadline-through-no-fault-of-my-own manuscript edits, i’m mostly just happy i bathed today, and have clean clothes to wear. shaving is optional. deep bags under my eyes are not. i definitely fit the definition of “weird guy” right now.)
as they got through line, chattering on like sparrows on crack, the staff seemed to express their disdain for these ladies thusly. upon their sandwiches being ready, the lady behind the counter shouted their name, followed by “your hell-witch is ready!” The chattering voiceboxes never even noticed a thing. Mine was next. My “hot-wich” was ready.
You know what’s weird about me? I was the only one who even noticed it. The lady behind the counter worked hard in the sandwich production line, hair a little frazzled from the pace, and hands probably uncomfortable in those gloves. For one moment, she was a person, not a production line.