The Voice Issue 6, Autumn 2011 | Page 26

THE ANGRY LARY Feeling those everyday frustrations get the better of you? Need to get something off your chest before you explode? Well this is the place to do it. It’s our soapbox section – our chance to have a bit of a rant. It’s all in good spirits though. We’re not looking to change the world – just draw attention to those bits of the world that don’t quite make sense! This month, our angry lary wants to talk about talking Talk to the hand! I’m a pretty well-adjusted person. Or at least I like to think so. I’ve had to cope with quite a bit of the bad stuff in my life, but I’ve been blessed with a wonderful family, and all in all, laryngectomy notwithstanding, I have a pretty good life. But if there’s one thing that gets me hot under the collar and riled up so far I don’t know how to come down, it’s this – people who don’t talk to me, but talk to my wife or whoever I’m with. It drives me crazy. And when it drives me crazy, I drive my wife crazy and everyone else I meet – and then it just manages to spoil everyone’s day. Now, I’ll admit, I’m not going to win any prizes for public speaking, but I get by. Most people (if they’re prepared to really listen) can get the gist of what I’m saying. So why is it that if I’m in a shop and I ask for some pork chops, the shop assistant 26 THE VOICE | Autumn 2011 starts getting all flustered and directs questions to my wife? Suddenly I’m left to one side while everything goes on around me. It’s farcical. Bless her, my wife tries to help. So she turns to me and pointedly asks me how many I’d like. Then I stare back at the shop assistant and tell her we’ll have four please. That doesn’t help. She goes right back to my wife and asks her how thick we want them and so it goes on – a mad triangle of conversation over something as simple as chops! “Stuff the chops” I feel like saying as I storm off. But I know my wife will just say “Stuff them? I was going to grill them!” This kind of thing happens all the time. Nine times out of ten, when we’re in a restaurant, the waiter or waitress checks everything I say with my wife as if she’s got to give her assent to everything I eat and drink. I want to scream. Fortunately for all, I can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried – it’s quite an impressive noise, but it doesn’t really help me vent my feelings! When I’m on my own of course, there isn’t anyone for them to turn to – and, provided they engage their ears and disengage their mouth for a bit, we usually get along just fine! So it’s not that people can’t understand me or can’t talk to me, it’s just that, for whatever reason, they won’t.