Vanessa is in town for a bit of work (that's work work, not plastic surgery work) so we got together for dinner at Sushi King last night. A constant flow of arctic air from the AC vent aimed directly at us resulted in a shift from the sanushi bar to a cocktail table near the door and the set of boofs near the window. Dinner went well despite our cramped quarters. However, I nearly hurled in my nabeyaki as two patrons exited one of the boofs.
I think these folks were New Yorkers based on the accents and volume at which they were yelling at each other. Yes, I have a frame of reference about New Yorkers from having lived and worked in that area for nearly 18 months. Yes, yelling is the only way to phrase the volume at which their cordial messages were being delivered to each other. No, the lack of respect for other diners was not the worst of it.
The lady's voice could shatter glass. Think Fran Drescher, but not nearly as entertaining. A more shrill sound I have never heard. This lady sounded like the Shrieking Eels on steroids after someone kicked them in the nuts. To top it off, the couple stood on the other side of the fancy glass partition barely separating them from us and rambled for at least three or four more minutes. A headache this caused. Pissed off I was.
The couple was still outside when we left. The man must have gotten his own headache. He was in his Benzo (TX vanity plate "BEDS") attempting to leave. Not-Fran was still blasting deafening yelps of what I can only assume was such important information it needed to be conveyed right then and everyone on the patio, in the parking lot, and in Pappasito's parking lot.
Not-Fran was a car accident. I couldn't look away. I was fascinated by the shrieking. How had this man not ripped off his ears?
Finally I said, "She's got a voice that'd make someone want to club a baby seal." To which Vanessa added, "Yeah - with its brother."
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