In the season of buzzing grasshoppers, after the last school bell, my knife went thock, thock, thock on the cutting board as I yammered a spiel at people I'd barely talked to before. I heard no after no. But the higher-pitched of my parents told me to call in an order for the lower-pitched. Something to announce after his next round of “Happy Birthday to You”: a little blade that would open with a snick. The call was answered; I creaked open the mailbox and shouted at what had arrived. I hopped in the family van and rolled the door shut (a sound mirroring the plane I’d soon take to a Spanish-speaking country). As we chugged down quiet country roads, I crinkled up the tape and popped open the flaps of the cardboard box. I snicked open the knife, jabbering in my know-it-all voice, my last words “it’s totally safe” before a hiss and a howl. One “Happy new year!” and “happy vacation!” later, I took heard yes after yes: plenty of sales orders, barked out in person and delivered before you could say “chop chop!”
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Super effective! Demonstrates how rarely writers draw on aural cues.