Okay, you can skip this if you want to, but a couple of things have happened this summer that really make me want to grind my teeth (I say want to, because thanks to my dentist I make a conscious effort to never even clench my teeth, despite my aversion to ever wanting to appear slack-jawed). But I digress.
So the Hubby and I took the Teardrop out for another spin the other day because it was hot. And there was a meteor shower. And I needed to get away from the house, the garden, etc. in order to focus on my book for a few days. So camping is a no-brainer. The peacefulness of being out in the trees, under the stars, the chirp of little birds, a babbling brook in the background, away from the din of everyday life. Until….yes, you may have guessed it–the campers next door with the boombox (or car radio) blasting heavy-metal music loud enough for everyone to hear. Why? Why? I say to my husband, “Why are these people who must listen to music while camping never listening to classical music, John Denver, or even the Carpenters?” But before I’m done speaking I know the answer. Because those kind of people would not be listening to music while camping. They, like me, would be listening to the birds, the trees, the crackle of the campfire; enjoying nature. “Whatever happened to someone with a guitar around the campfire,” I lament. I could deal with that.
Scenario #2, about one month ago:
We are at at open-air venue to listen to a live show of a nationally broadcast radio show. We’ve been sitting in the hot sun for over an hour in advance. The show begins. You guessed it again. Three women squeeze onto a patch of lawn just behind us and proceed to talk through the entire show. THE ENTIRE SHOW!!!!!! The music, the dialogue, EVERYTHING. I turn now and then to offer what I hope is my best middle school teacher stink-eye, but never actually ask them to refrain. I want to. I want to say, “Hey, the show will air again tomorrow; why not listen to it on the radio and TALK THROUGH IT THEN?” I know my seventeen year-old would be embarrassed silly so I hold my tongue. I ask you, what is with these people?????? I continuously look around the audience to see if anybody–I mean ANYBODY ELSE in the whole stadium–is talking like these chicks. No. I see no one.
Okay, so the whining sound is me. Granted, a lot of things are annoying: people talking loudly on cell phones in the checkout line, in public restroom stalls (ew, really?), but those things are really just annoying. The radio-blasting campers are taking away an experience countless others came and paid to have. Likewise the gabbing ladies at the show. Those tickets were not cheap and I wasn’t paying to hear their stories. I don’t understand the mentality. Naturally I shine the spot-light on myself in these circumstances; have I ever been equally complicit in an act of destroying another’s experience? No.
Oh…there was that one time on the top of the houseboat on Lake Billy Chinook. “The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed, if not for the courage of the fearless crew, the minnow would be lost.” APPLES ON A STICK!!!!!!