Thursday, October 29, 2009

Sound Waves

I have recently found one of my biggest pet peeves to be noise. I don’t think I ever quite understood the phrase "Silence is Golden" to be more than the the cheesy intro that flashes on the movie theatre screen until now--and now as I grow older that shit has gotta be 14 karat! This discovery is new to me, as it recently first came to light when I was at my older sister’s house. My young niece and nephew got to playing some game of chase and the squeals grew higher and more shrill as they tagged and tackled each other. It was foreign to me how annoyed I was, but I was also perplexed at how no one else seemed phased by the shrieks. Like a dog whistle to a dog, I seemed the only one affected. I am a person that has been around young children as I was a nanny for years, but I now found myself snapping at my cheery niece and nephew “the louder you are the quicker Aunt Lauren leaves!” I sneered. This annoyance had been forgotten but had recently topped my list again on my early morning flight to Chicago. I begrudgingly rolled out of bed at 3:30 am where I zombie walked to the bathroom, tore my clothes off and stepped into the shower where I slathered shampoo in my hair. I stood asleep, half leaning on the cracked tiled wall as water pounded on my skull. I am sure the cucumber shampoo had hardly rinsed out of my hair when I was already dripping through the hall into my bedroom pulling on clothes over my still wet body. I kissed my pups and headed to the airport relieved I could sleep for maybe another 2 hours on the flight.

Upon collecting my boarding pass, I relaxed as I saw my seat assignment- 16A. The 16 bothered me a little, as this meant when the plane landed there would be at least 30 assholes in front of me trying to be first up to grab their bags. I hated watching this fiasco. There are always those people that have to squeeze in the line before its rightfully their turn. I don't understand why they can't just move in an orderly fashion like we were taught in grade school. Ohh noooo jerk in seat 12 has to throw the whole synergy of exiting off by standing in the aisle before seats 6-11 even have a chance to unbuckle their belts. This action just pisses me off and I am normally left having zero faith in and hating the human race. Regardless of the strife the 16 would bring me, I was releaved to see the A. Ahhh what a perfect little letter I thought. It is the first letter of the alphabet. It is that grade you strive for on a test. But more importantly, in my case-it is the window seat! This means I had a place to lean my head, so I don’t have to look like those other morons whose noses are in the air, mouths open like some giant Venus fly traps, heads bobbing to the left than the right like half deflated balloons in a slight breeze. These sleepyheads did it all wrong; haven’t they learned that you always want the wall for support. I mean come on, I’m sure this wasn’t their first flight. Yet, it is here against my beloved wall, that my discovery was made.

It was nearly 6am and it was still dark. The hum of the plane engines lulled me into a deep sleep when I heard that first crackle. It confused me at first as I struggled in my state of sleep to figure out what the noise was but I was also too lazy to open my eyes. The noise subsided and I sunk again, eyelids still heavy, on the verge of that deep slumber. This nirvana was short lived as again the crackle of paper yanked me from the unconscious. This time it seemed to crunch and crackle for a good 10 minutes. "What the f**k is this guy doing"! I screamed in my head at the man in 16C, as my eyes shot open. Ahhhh, a newspaper, and with each page he turned he had to fold and smooth and smooth again until he was left with a creaseless, crinkleless periodical. I surveyed the man, eyeing him up and down like a hungry snow wolf might do to a cornered bunny after a long winter with little food. Ohh Mr. Businessman here in his tweed jacket and loafers, that in my mind, were a shade of brown much to light to look decent with that outfit. By the time the man reached the Life and Style section I was about ready to whip off my 4 inch heel and stake him through his inconsiderate little black heart. I waited until he finished perusing the paper and again I drifted off to what I mistakenly thought would be an uninterrupted sleep. Again I was awoke by a slight crackling. My mind still in the fog of sleep had imagined some chilly passenger had started a fire in the back of the cabin. The snaps and crackles of the flames growing louder, but my eyes shot open to reveal the man’s hand in his Starbucks bag. I watched as he tore a piece of a pastry from the bag and munched on it. With each buttery bite the bag rustled. I stared for a moment, in utter shock that this man would not think to remove the pastry from the bag to tear off each nibble. If he was going to eat like a God damn mouse he didn’t have to sound like a freaking pack of rats in a garbage can!!

Lesson here: In the wee morning hours when you rats are undoubtedly out, please try to consider your neighbors!