Apparently I have been too old for quite some time now. Anyone who knows me well, knows that loud music is like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. I do not want to hear other people’s music: not from the parent parked outside blaring hip hop while waiting to pick up their kid, not reggae from the house next door loud enough to rattle my windows, and not rap from the neighbor on the other side, wafting over the fence along with the smell of weed.
My salvation are my earbuds. They allow me to block out the offensive sounds and retain my sanity. They help me to resist the urge to pull out a bazooka and destroy every speaker within a five block radius. With these magical little things in my ears, I am transported to a quiet place where I have complete control over my environment.
It never dawned on me when I set out this morning for a doctor’s appointment that I might need my airbuds. It seems every office lately has a TV that’s blaring. Typically it’s news, cooking shows, or talk shows. I can usually read and tune that out. Not today. My ears were assaulted by teenagers singing rap (if one can call that singing).
When the medical assistant called me in, I’m fairly certain I jumped out of my seat and ran to her as if being chased by a zombie.