The Forgotten Art of Listening

Shipment day. We were pretty busy, which tends to coincide with rude customers - and today was no exception.
A woman and her friend are looking at plates about 15 feet from where I'm quickly unpacking boxes.
"Do you know what this is made out of?" Woman #1 blurts out. (Notice the lack of excuse me, hello, or any other greeting to let someone know you're addressing them specifically in this crowded place.)
"It's a piece by --" I begin, only to hear
"What time do you close?" demands her friend, Woman #2.
I look pointedly at Woman #2 and continue with "by Anne Ross, and it's --"
"What time do you --" Woman #2 interjects, again.
"What is this made out of?" Woman #1 begins (ahh, now I see why they are friends).
"And it's made out of --" I attempt, bravely, for then I hear
"What time do you close?" Woman #2 asks, unwavering.
I give up. "We close --"
"What is this made out of?" Woman #1 wants to know.
"Glass. Five o'clock," I blurt out as fast as I can.
The two women look at each other.
"What?" they both demand.
"It's made out of --"
And I kid you not, that Woman #2 interrupted and guess what she said?
"What time do you close?"