Loud
We were standing in line at a ticket counter at Bushkill Falls, in the Poconos, surrounded by people from New Jersey, a few of whom fit the New Jersey Person stereotype perfectly: they were big and loud and florid and mulleted and when they spoke it sounded like a small bullhorn factory exploding. Their accents were broad and rotund, and they swung them at the language like mallets, flattening helpless sounds into something new and strange, something unnaturally concave, and doing it incredibly loudly. We felt like a bunch of mimes trapped in a room full of partially deaf drill seargents.
The guy in front of us was carrying on an ear-splitting conversation with some poor kid in the ticket booth. As far as I could tell, he was trying to figure out why the trail maps cost $2. It went something like this:
New Jersey Guy: BUT WHY DO I HAVE TO PAY TWO BUCKS FOR THIS MAP? I ALREADY PAID FIFTEEN BUCKS TO GET IN HERE.
Beleaguered Ticket Guy: You don’t have to pay for …
NJG: I MEAN IT’S JUST A BUNCH OF SQUIGGLY LINES ON A PIECE OF PAPER. IT’S NOT LIKE WE’RE BUYING THE GODDAM MONA LISA.
BTG: You don’t have to buy it, sir. You can have this map instead. It’s free.
NJG: FREE? (pause) WHAT’S WRONG WITH IT?
BTG: Nothing, sir. It just doesn’t have the Adventure Trail marked on it.
NJG: (pause) SO I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE ADVENTURE TRAIL?
BTG: You didn’t sign up for that tour sir.
NJG: I DON’T WANT TO TAKE THE TOUR, I JUST WANT TO LOOK AT THE ROUTE. IS THAT OK WITH YOU? IS THAT A PROBLEM?
BTG: (pause) Here.
NJG: WHAT’S THIS?
BTG: It’s the map you were asking for, sir.
NJG: I TOLD YOU I’M NOT PAYING TWO BUCKS FOR AN EXTRA LINE ON MY MAP.
BTG: It’s on the house sir.
NJG: (pause) WHY? WHAT’S WRONG WITH IT?
And the really outstanding thing about this exchange was the total lack of acrimony. The guy didn’t seem aggrieved or angry or anything; he was just having a chat.
By the time we got up there, the ticket guy looked dazed. He cringed when we handed over our money, then cringed when we thanked him, as quietly as we could. As we walked away, we heard someone asking why the bobble-head bears in the gift shop cost twelve bucks when you could get exactly the same bobble-head bears down the shore for ten. Ten! He was asking it very, very loudly.
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