Whose Voices Do We Hear?

Eavesdropping Taught Me A Lesson About Listening

As I was typing away the other day, on a roll writing about how worried I was that our cat, Jasper, was going to get himself stuck inside a wall*, a loud voice interrupted my flow. I was startled at how clearly I could hear the deep, male voice even though he was outside and I was inside a building on the second floor. Granted, my window was open and there was a coffee shop next door with a few outdoor tables, but I often left the window open and had never been disturbed by the coffee shop chatter before.

“So there were these five cars that Elvis owned,” said Deep Voice and he went on to describe the vehicles. I thought about shutting the window, but the topic was fairly interesting, so I didn’t. The guy went on and on. I couldn’t make out who he was speaking with as he didn’t quiet down long enough for anyone else to speak. I tried to continue writing, but it was really hard to block out the sound of Deep Voice.

“This guy is an a$@,” my inner voice tells me. “He’s rambling on and on, won’t let anyone else talk, and is being loud enough I could drive the 12 minutes it would take me to get home and not miss anything he’s saying.” I agreed with myself, typed another sentence, but then my attention was jerked away again.

“Elvis then sold that car. It was really something, let me tell you!”

“You are telling them, and me, and the baristas inside, and the guys making pizza up the street,” I thought. Then I considered it interesting that every time I heard the name, “Elvis,” I felt compelled to tune in. Apparently, The King still has appeal over 40 years after his death.

I decided I should go close the window and of course, take a peek at what Deep Voice looked like. While his behavior screamed “rude, redneck %&?@,” his vocabulary was good and his speech patterns were that of someone who had not dropped out of high school. His voice, more than his constant commentary, was bothering me far more than the usual coffee shop patrons.

It was then I realized I rarely heard men talking next door. When I did it was usually soft-spoken, older men enjoying donuts with their grandkids. Mostly, it was women, with or without children, filling the tables next door. Their…

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