“Good morning, I’m here today to talk about voice management.”
My ears cringed at the sound of those clearly enunciated, crisply delivered words. Accents this flawless are a rare thing, and for good reason. This town doesn’t take kindly to people who “talk-like-thiss,” and to be honest, we’re pretty darn unapologetic about it.
But I’ve figured that on a long enough conversation scale, everyone’s vocal subterfuge drops. Even the bloody Queen. The trick is to catch this flash-in-the-conversational-pan just when it happens. Then play it over and over again in your head for the rest of your conversation with the phonetic sinner. In her case, she mispronounced “voice”—the “v” sounded like a nicely rounded “w”.
Strike one.
She was about as passionate about her job as a government clerk, working the graveyard shift. Scanning her prey, this “certified voice trainer with years of experience” was sizing up her audience. Clearly, she didn’t think very much of our town or its simple folk.
Her droning voice bounced off the walls of our town hall and didn’t find a hospitable ear. It was almost as if we were being forced to listen to an audiobook on wind farming in the 21st century. Her eyes stuck firmly in their sockets, refusing to budge even at the sight of the most shocking image conceivable. Her pencil lips selectively allowed whatever escaped her tonsils to translate into “propah” speech. She had a button for a nose, which screamed of only two possibilities: A botched up job, or a longstanding coke habit.
She looked like the love child of the (unholy) union of the late MJ and a rough Christina Ricci. I always thought that would work well. Guess again.
Long, spindle-shaped fingers languidly drew imaginary patterns in the air, which accompanied the rambling. Like a listless conductor’s half-baked attempts to keep his untalented orchestra in tune.
After a while, she handed out lines for the townsfolk to read. Everyone was honing their inner 70s tragic hero and discovering a part of them they didn’t know they had. Yep, they were going Devdas all over a piece on selling healthcare.
So, what did I learn today, you ask? Well, I figured that if you repeat a word over and over again, you’ll eventually strip it of all its meaning.
Shoes.
Shoes.
Shoes.
Shoes.
Shoes.
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