The (punishing) sound of music
Lori Borgman | Monday, May 31, 2010
For the first time in my life, I fantasized about stealing a car. I didn’t
plan on taking it far. Hopefully the officers would note that in the comments
section of the police report when they arrested me.
We were filling up at a gas station and truck stop plaza, when a fellow
pulled curbside to the convenience store and swaggered inside. He left his car
running and his sound system blasting.
Vibration from the bass rippled waves in the concrete. Hoses to every gas
pump rocked wildly. The sign for the station that previously shot high into the
night now crimped at a sharp right angle in acute pain.
The trunk of the offending car pulsated. The windows vibrated. The hood
shook and the rooftop buckled and heaved like an active volcano. Dogs cried and
small children began to howl.
It would have been a genuine public service for someone to slip into the
driver’s seat and drive the offending vehicle around to the back of the station.
Where was a Boy Scout when I needed him?
And then I asked myself: Why not me? Why not here? Why not now?
The answer came quickly – because the guy could catch me, strap me into his
passenger seat and force me to continue listening until my ears bled and my eyes
crossed.
Held hostage by deafening decibels, I couldn’t help but think of ways to seek
revenge. (I can be extremely menacing behind the protection of rolled up windows
and within the safety of power lock doors.)
I thumbed through my CD album. I’d read that officials and chaperones in
California have been using Bacharach and Hal David tunes to bust up
inappropriate moves on the dance floors. How would you like a little “Raindrops
Keep Falling on My Head” at 300 decibels, Mr. Music Man? That’s right, just walk
on by. You got it, mister, one less bell to answer. Unfortunately I didn’t have
any Bacharach.
Maybe I could bombard him with some AC/DC – the government used their music
to wear down detainees. Bad idea, the guy would probably love it. Besides,
I was fresh out.
I had Michael Buble (never to be used in such a fashion), assorted Motown
(absolutely not), and Johnny Cash. “Ring of Fire” was a possibility. No, what I
really needed was Barry Manilow.
A neighborhood in Australia has been clearing their streets of loud cars and
unruly teens by blasting “Mandy” and “Weekend in New England.” Again, I
was fresh out.
But wait, I did have some Mozart. A school in England used Mozart on badly
behaving children in special detentions. The headmaster claimed it calmed
students down and that the number of disruptive pupils dropped by 60 percent.
You may have zipped into the station a bad boy, Sonny, but with a little
Mozart, you’re gonna roll out of here like a pussy cat.
The husband finished filling the tank, jumped back in the driver’s seat and
yelled, “WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO WORK WITH?”
“Mozart,” I said.
“I’VE GOT A BETTER IDEA. LET’S ROLL DOWN THE WINDOWS AND CRANK UP SOME TALK
RADIO.”
The man is a genius. Now hard of hearing, but a genius.
