In this memory, I’m nine years old. One day, as I come home and stand outside the front door, I get inspired to pretend I’m a delivery person.
“Hello?” comes my mother’s voice from the intercom, and I put on a deeper voice, mimicking a typical delivery person that comes to our house.
“Your delivery is here!”
I think I’ve done a good job, but when my mother opens the door for me, there is no surprise on her face.
“Didn’t you think it was a delivery service?”
“Of course not,” replies my mother with a straight face. “It was your voice.”
What a bummer.
The next time I do it, I make sure to speak in an even deeper voice. But no matter how many times I do it, my mother isn’t fooled by my voice acting.
One day, I come home, and it’s my father who picks up the intercom.
“Your delivery is here!” I reply as I have gotten used to doing, in the deepest voice I can produce.
“Okay,” says my father’s voice.
Several moments pass, and I hear him call out to my mother behind the door.
“Where is the stamp, honey? I need it now. We’ve got delivery!”
The door bursts open, revealing my father holding a stamp in his hand, and I explode with laughter.
“Oh…” The shock on his face is nothing but real. “It was you!”
“Couldn’t you tell that it was me?”
“No,” says my father, his expression now a mix of disbelief and amusement. “The voice didn’t sound like yours at all. I really thought it was a delivery service!”
And with that, my weeks of voice-acting practice has finally paid off.