Writers are supposed to be eavesdroppers, right?
Even so, it feels so wrong. So delicious when you hear some pearl worth keeping, but so wrong all the same. Almost pervy. It is pervy, I guess.
Here's the latest. Smith Street supermarket:
Short Size 16 Woman: (Bumps into someone) Oh, gosh.
Tall, Dangerously Skinny Woman: Sorry.
SS16W: You scared the hell out of me.
TDSW: I know, I know. Sorry.
SS16W: No, sorry, you're right.
TDSW: I'm used to it.
SS16W: Beg your pardon?
TDSW: I'm used to it.
SS16W: What, scaring the hell out of me?
TDSW: No. Scaring people. Freaking people out. I freak people out. I'm sorry.
Tall Dangerously Skinny Woman backs away during last sentence and leaves. Small Size 16 Woman stands next to the beetroots with her partner.
Partner: What'd she say?
....
This is the point where the couple choose to leave the beetroots in search of breakfast cereal or eggs or chicken or cheese.
This is the point where one of three things happens:
1) The eavesdropper (that's me) stands among the crates of vegies, wondering what the Small Size 16 Woman says next.
2) The eavesdropper takes that pervy habit a little bit further, and follows the couple to the cereal section, where the eavesdropper repeatedly turns over a box of porridge while straining to hear the analysis of the previous conversation (already overheard near the beetroots) pretending that her interest in the nutritional facts on the porridge packet is nothing short of forensic.
3) The eavesdropper is interrupted with not even a moment's consideration by the person the eavesdropper has gone shopping with, who wants the eavesdropper's opinion about something particularly inane, such as the eavesdropper's choice between two different sorts of bread. No matter how many times the eavesdropper tells the people she loves that she is an eavesdropper who MUST NOT BE INTERRUPTED WHEN SHE IS OBVIOUSLY WORKING, people she loves insist on interrupting at juicy conversational climaxes with inane questions... or even interesting questions... hell, even if they interrupted with CAKE AND ALE, it is still no excuse. Having invested so much in the conversation about the skinny tall girl and her presumption that the shorter, not-so-skinny girl had been referring in an inapropriately personal way to her body, the eavesdropper wants closure!
... Anyway, in this case, the very well-trained person-who-I-love has come to realise that asking me questions in supermarkets requires a pause and a head-check before lift-off. So, in this case, option (1) was settled upon, because I was in a hurry.
Still, these conversations happen all around me. This means they must also happen all around everything else. This means that RIGHT NOW, I am missing out on overhearing a conversation. This is an appalling state for a writer to live in.
I must go out immediately and stand around in Safeway.
This will all be claimed on tax. I'm watching you, Peter Costello. And my ears are peeled.