A mustached man comes in and stands at the bar and stares at the bartendinatrix waiting on the other side. She says 'Good evening, sir' and smiles. He waits three seconds, four seconds, then says GOOD EVENING MA'AM with enough voice for two or three men. Everyone looks. I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION FOR YOU, MA'AM. Everyone looks even more. HOW DID LECHIA DO? BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN A GREAT LECHIA FAN FOR TWENTY YEARS. I AM TERRIBLY EMOTIONALLY INTERESTED IN THE OUTCOME OF THE LECHIA MATCH.
He's not angry, he's not yelling. He's not apparently excited at all. He looks the opposite of excited. The music is quiet and he has no reason to think the bartendinatrix can't hear him. Maybe he's deaf? Maybe his parents were deaf? Maybe he's a tester at the fireworks factory? But I'm sure his hearing is fine. He understands the bartendinatrix when he turns his back to hang his jacket.
He gets a juice (A RASPBERRY JUICE) and sits at a table (IS THIS TABLE FREE?) and waits. Two young women come in and take a table next to his. He asks them, DO YOU LADIES FOLLOW LECHIA? DO YOU KNOW THE OUTCOME OF THE MATCH? They are not football fans. He turns and stares straight ahead with both hands neatly around his glass of juice.
I'm afraid he'll ask me, but then a cell phone rings and he answers. He's not deaf. HELLO. YES, I'M AT THE PUB. I HAVE JUST ARRIVED. NO, I DON'T KNOW. NO ONE KNOWS. In the same voice. The pieces snap together. He's speaking Cellphonese. He's a Cellphonian. After the call (GOODBYE), he walks up to the bar and asks, COULD I GET A STRAW? THANK YOU.
(I just checked. There was no match. There has been no match for several days.)