Phone call

“Hi. It’s me. Yeah. Fine. You’ll never guess who I saw this morning. Taragon. Taragon Fuller. Yeah. She saw me she knew it was me but she just ignored me.”

(at this point I may accidentally have vocalised ‘there’s probably a reason for that luv’ which made the guy sitting opposite smirk)

So I shut the chavvy little girl out; I plugged in my iPod, switched on and cranked up the volume to drown out the rest of the conversation. I looked around the coach. It was plain that other people wished they had a similar retreat from this aural onslaught.

If this girl makes it to her 17th birthday in one piece it will only be because someone teaches her how to conduct a telephone conversation in the correct tones.

B.

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5 Responses to Phone call

  1. Mya says:

    Taragon? TARAGON? Give me fucking strength.

  2. Bulldog says:

    Who, pray tell, is Taragon Fuller. Humor me. I’m from out of town. Well, out of country, actually.

  3. Brennig says:

    Laughing muchly and greatly out loud at Mya’s ejaculation. 🙂

    Bulldog: Wish I knew! But she is the person that the very loud maker of phone calls was talking about in a not very discrete manner.

  4. smallbeds says:

    They used to employ tarragon fullers in medieval abbeys and at court. It’s certainly not a job I’d want: tarragon’s a bugger to handle, and can go off with a bang if you’re not careful.

  5. Brennig says:

    I think this particular Taragon Fuller is probably one cool chica – particularly as she blanked this loud-voiced girl!