Apparently some people believe that if they aren’t making noise, they don’t exist.
About fifty feet from where I’m writing these words someone is flying a drone, which sounds like gigantic prehistoric mosquito in search of a victim of commensurate size, maybe a stegosaurus. A few minutes ago a vehicle passed by on the road exuding what sounded to me like 120-decibel flatulence. On an almost nightly basis, and this is no exception, a cadre of young persons with evidently nothing better to do park their vehicles in a park specifically designed for small children, and proceed to laugh and swear loudly, banging on the climbing bars and slide to produce a thunderous racket. Better to self-identify as an obnoxious twerp before others have a chance to label you, I suppose. It’s quarter to eleven on a Thursday night in Yourtown USA, and it sounds like I’m at a rock concert.
In addition to incessant traffic noise, we’ve all experienced drivers who insist on sharing their insipid musical tastes with the rest of us. Your neighbor may have a dog that barks at the least excuse and requires discipline (either the neighbor or the dog). There are shrieking children in the supermarket, boorish patrons in restaurants, loudmouthed drunks in bars, airplanes overhead, sirens coming up the road, and a great many people turn off their television only when they aren’t home (some sleep with it on). We are constantly bombarded with noise. For many it’s become their natural state of existence.
Some years back a friend of mine came from the Midwest to visit. Just after sundown, as we stopped to stretch our legs beside a desert road somewhere near Tuba City, he cracked like a piñata. When the sound of the car cutting through the darkness stopped, the radio faded and our conversation had paused, his ears were filled with a sudden silence. He wigged, and nothing would do but that we urgently resume our journey, complete with background noise.
There is a popular myth among motorcyclists, that ‘loud pipes save lives.’ Well, they don’t. Loud pipes merely make everyone else on the road hate your guts and wish you ill. And take it from a veteran of thirty years experience, the last thing you want to encounter when sitting on top of a V-twin engine at highway speed with zero protection between you and the asphalt is someone in a car or truck who has taken a dislike to you.
It appears that some people find it utterly impossible to have a good time without emulating a Mongol horde. What sporting event would be complete without voices raised in inarticulate, manic riot, lauding one team and/or deriding the other? Political conventions, backyard barbecues, the classroom when the teacher steps out, casinos, bar fights, lynchings — the masses do not revel quietly. Even when decorum would imply quietude, some cretin will always violate the peace. Take movie theaters, libraries, motel rooms and campgrounds as examples of this. As Denzel Washington’s character in the 2007 film American Gangster said, “The loudest one in the room is the weakest one in the room.” There’s always somebody.
What does all this racket serve? To push back the darkness? To proclaim a virility that can’t otherwise be demonstrated? To belie an otherwise milquetoast existence? To prevent unpleasant self-reflection? Ford Prefect, the alien vagabond in Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, theorizes that “If humans don’t keep exercising their lips, their mouths probably sieze up.” Ford ultimately rejects the notion as overly cynical. I don’t agree, but then I’m a grumpy old man who doesn’t like noise, so what do I know?
What I do know is that I talk to myself almost nonstop, often, I suspect, to circumvent the stress of considering my living conditions (I sometimes have to make a conscious effort to shut myself up just to fall asleep). But I don’t condone such cowardice, in myself or others. Better to seek the quiet and heed what we’re so desperate to drown out. Better not to disturb the serenity of others in our desperation. Better to be aware of the noise we create, and, bluntly speaking, to shut up once in a while, or at the very least tone it down. In the words of Henry David Thoreau, “The silence rings; it is musical and thrills me.”
So, shhh. What are you so afraid of?
