Loss of a luxury.
It seems that, as our society evolves and more “luxuries” become available to anyone with more than a few pennies in their bank, the real luxuries of our humble existance are becoming fewer and fewer.
The incessant flashing, beeping, shrieking and vibrating of the mobile phone in everyone’s pocket is a subject upon which I have dwelt on more than one occasion. I believe that this particular “luxury” turned to a curse within a few short months of the popularization of the text message. Since then, it has only gotten worse – and to an extent that even I, in my ultimate state of pessimism, could never have predicted.
But this particular device is only one contributing factor to the loss of something pretty special in our lives. Something that is now nigh on impossible to achieve in any way. The true luxury of which I speak is silence.
Just silence.
The ability to sit somewhere quiet, perhaps to just doze for half an hour, perhaps to enjoy a few chapters of a book, or perhaps even to sit in the sun on a nice day and actually enjoy the tiny interruptions of that silence provided by birds …
These ideas are a thing of the past. Not only have we gotten to the point where switching our phones off for an hour leaves us in an uneasy state of wondering whether there is someone trying to contact us for a good reason, as opposed to the banality we are forced to endure for the most part of our “social networking”, but even in the complete absence of our phones, it is still impossible to find any place that is even quiet, let alone silent.
If it’s not the neighbours having what sounds like a fist fight in their kitchen, it’s a gang of kids screaming outside …
And yes, I do mean SCREAMING.
Blood-curdling screams that bring to mind scenes from Hellraiser or Hostel.
It seems that, in the years since my own childhood, the standard way for someone between the ages of 7 and 13 to have fun has changed from driving a remote controlled car, flying a kite or riding a bike to, quite literally standing on the same spot for hours on end, screaming.
And sitting out in the sun? Don’t get me started! The tiniest glimmer of sunlight breaking through the clouds has become an invitation for every arsehole in the country to blast an offensive mixture of Reggae, Dance and R&B from their unnecessarily powerful speakers to their neighbours bleeding ears. Accompanied, of course with the sight of those arseholes parading about the street in nothing but a pair of shorts and flip-flops, drinking can after can of special brew and getting progressively louder and more offensive with every mouthful. Not to mention the inevitable fucking barbeque on these “sunny” days which fill the air with the vile, acrid stench of burning meat and the sound of those same drunk arseholes getting even more drunk as the evening turns into the middle of the fucking night.
It’s at times like this where even a sniper’s rifle wouldn’t do the trick! What this situation calls for is 2 or 3 hand grenades! Yeah, the explosions would just make more noise … but at this point, I’m generally past actually trying to get a few moments peace. I just want vengeance!
Vengeance for the loss of social etiquette.
Vengeance for the theft of what could have been a nice relaxing afternoon.
Vengeance for having to endure the additional noise of people whining about the arseholes noise!
Vengeance for their contribution to the decay of western society.
And vengeance for their contribution to the advancement of my inevitable Michael-Douglas-In-Falling-Down style psychotic break that will leave me uncontrollably dribbling and slowly rocking in a room with rubber walls.
MisterShouty 