Him: Cough.
Him: Cough, cough. Clear throat.
Him: Cough, cough, cough, cough, ahem.
Me: Excuse me.
Him: Cough.
Me: Okay loser. I spent a lot on these subscriptions, this is my last concert of the year and if you cough one more time, I will take this dart gun from my handbag and blow poison into your jugular. Got it?
Him: Clear throat. Person next to Him: Cough. Four rows away: Clear throat, cough.
Me: Dear God, it's a friggin' tubercular outbreak. I wish you had died quietly at home instead of coming here tonight.
Them: Cough. Ahem. Sneeze. Cough.
Me: That's it. Next person who makes a nonmusical noise gets a plug in the orifice from which it emitted.
Beethoven violin concerto, interruptus. I hate coughers.
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4 comments:
I hate coughers even without the concert ticket expense. The thick mucous-laden cacophony type of cougher at Sunday Mass is my special nemesis. They always seem to be sitting to my left or right, and spring forth their germ splattered hand at the kiss of peace like a jack-in-the-box lying in waiting.
There's a widespread theory that Ricardo Muti quite as conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra not because it wouldn't build a new concert hall (the CW), but because of the friggin' coughers. I don't know, I've been to Carnegie Hall, and there are no outbreaks like this. I seriously think that if we ejected the first person who coughed more than once during a performance, it would come to a halt.
As for coughers at Mass: ew. Just wave at them during the sign of peace and say: "Sorry, I have syphilis."
you keep a dart gun in your purse? that's fucking awesome! i'll bet you never have to wait [cough, cough...pardon, tail-end of a cold] in line.
what is it that keeps you from actually having these conversations?
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