When Sound Becomes Noise
(written in a restaurant with headphones on)
I look down at my feet as I walk into the sports bar. I’m wearing Stan Smith tennis shoes that might otherwise be slightly dragging with each step, however my gait has become rather precise as I’ve directed my attention towards it. I guess I’ll never know how I walk when I’m not looking.
How did they get so dirty? I wear them everywhere, but it’s not like I’m ever in close proximity with people. At least it doesn’t feel that way. Who’s been stepping on my feet? I can’t even think of one instance, yet it’s clearly been happening. I just think it’s strange that I never see them get dirty. I occasionally clean them, after noticing them in a moment like this one, but by the next time I notice them they’re dirty again.
I watch each step come into contact with the cobblestone. Heel to toe. Heel to toe. Heel to toe. I stop walking and I stand up straight. I can’t even hear my own footsteps anymore. How bizarre. Not for some disillusioned numbness that I’ve developed, no no nothing like that, but because I wear my headphones everywhere. Of course, I know what footsteps sound like, and it’s not like my footsteps sound any different than anybody else's. And I don’t need to hear myself walk to know that I’m walking, right? I’m the one making it happen. Yet it feels strange that I’ve been walking around, and I’ve not been able to hear my own steps.
I don’t have too much time to think about it though. I look up. There’s a person standing in front of me. She’s hunched at the shoulders, leaned over the podium typing on her iPad. Her lips dance around words but I can’t make them out. I'm an excellent lip reader. I guess, and I’m realizing this as I am thinking it, I’m probably such a good lip reader because I wear my headphones all the time. Duh.
She looks up. It’s almost enough to startle me. And the next word is easy enough to make out, if not for the over-enunciation, then certainly for her nonverbal sarcasm that comes through her now squinted eyes. “Hello?” Which leads me to believe that she was talking to me before even though she wasn't looking at me. And who’s at fault here? I was looking without listening but she was talking without looking. Though it’s evident from her jeer that she’s pointing the finger at me on this one.
I take my headphones off.
“Oh sorry.”
I point to my headphones as if it wasn’t evident enough already. She just scoffs in response and says:
“Can I help you?”
“Uhh yeah table for one pl-”
I can’t even get the words out.
“Sorry bro we’re all booked”
And she looks back down at her iPad and continues to type on it.
I’m so embarrassed. I feel a surge of adrenaline shoot up from my stomach. I hate miscommunication. I don’t want to offend her. I consider just walking out of the restaurant right there. It would be easier for both of us. I’m not a confrontational person by nature but the thing is. Well. I do have a reservation. So I take a deep breath.
“Umm.”
She doesn’t look.
“It’s uhh just that. Well I have a reservation.”
“A reservation for one?” That wasn’t a real question, that was an insult and both of us know it.
“Yeah. I made it online.”
“Name?”
“Jasper.”
She taps on her iPad some more. She exhales. Her eyes say ‘Right this way’
She walks me to my table. I follow behind with my neck craned down. I don’t want to stare at anyone while they’re eating their meal nor do I want to run into someone I know. God forbid I stumble into one of my parents' friends or friends' parents. All of the obligation to say hello but with no chance of a substantive exchange though we’re both hoping for one. I’m expected to stop and speak to the acquaintance as the hostess either waits for me or walks off without me and I’m unable to fulfill either obligation to fruition. Unable to follow the hostess correctly. Unable to greet the family acquaintance for an appropriately long amount of time. No no. Can’t have that. So I keep my eyes on the floor in front of me.
And what’s on the floor in front of me. Well feet of course. Not mine this time. Her feet, the hostess. I watch her brisk walking pattern as we head to my table. She and I are wearing basically the same sneakers, but hers are some other brand rather than Stan Smiths. Though they look exactly the same, I assume hers to be more expensive. She, though, is walking toe to heel. Not even. It seems like her heel is never even touching the ground. Does she even know she’s doing this? She doesn’t even allow herself to take full steps. I suddenly feel sorry for her. Then I have a revelation that both shocks and disturbs me.
My headphones are off and yet I can’t hear her steps either. My hands shoot up to my head to make sure. My headphones are still around my neck. I hadn’t realized until now that it was incredibly loud in this place. House music turned up to full volume, sports blasting out of the television speakers and people yelling over all of the noise.
Her heels hit the ground and she abruptly stops. So do I. She gestures towards this table in the corner by the bathroom and then walks back to the host station without saying a word. I slide in the booth and once I’ve escaped that awkward encounter I’m able to look around and freely observe. It seems like there are two different sports games on the TVs: football and basketball. The place is filled with people in their various jerseys supporting their corresponding teams.
The house music is vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t name the song or the artist if I tried. Not that that’s a unique experience for me. My own music isn’t any different. I only listen to already curated playlists on Spotify so I never really know who I’m listening to. I honestly couldn’t tell you how the music is made either, when it comes to recording the vocals, the production or the mix. I vaguely know about those words but I don’t know what any of them mean. I might be quicker to sing the words to a song than I would be able to name the person who sings it.
I listen to music all day long. While I’m studying, while I’m walking through the city, while I’m sitting in bed. Hours and hours of my life are spent listening to these songs. I don’t know who sings them, who produces them, how they end up on my phone and yet my life revolves around this constant stream of sound.
The waiter interrupts me.
“Hey man. What can I get you?”
I panic, I was so deep in thought that I didn’t have time to look at the menu. I could have asked for more time but I’ve hesitated too long now. I’ve just been sitting here going “Uhhh” looking down at the menu, my eyes darting around so fast that I’m not able to read a single menu item. I have to say something:
“A burger!”
“Everything on it?”
“Sure.”
“Drink?”
“Uhhh coke.”
“Alright. It’ll be out shortly.”
I should have just asked for more time. He seems like a nice enough guy. He would have understood. But no, I just had to avoid offending him. I guess I was on edge because of the hostess. I swear to god I’m not always like this. And then it hits me… God this is so depressing because… Well… I had a burger for lunch.
I had the intention of coming here to read a book for class while I ate. I’m supposed to read this stupid philosophy book but literally every time I pick it up I can’t get myself to focus and my attention trails off. I don’t even day dream well. I start thinking about things I don’t even want to think about. Deadlines for school, awkward interactions that I’ve had, chores I’ve been avoiding. That’s the worst part of it. I don’t even have control over my daydreaming and my attention has no span. But If I don’t have my own attention, then who has it?
Anyway, I was hungry and having trouble reading in my room so I thought a change of scenery might help me. Boy was I wrong. I’m not even gonna try to read now. The silent steps, the hostile host, the burger blunder. Everything is going horribly terribly wrong. There was no chance of focusing on the fucking Myth of Sisyphus in an environment like this after encounters like that. I’m living my own comedy of errors but no one is watching, and it’s self imposed. I guess it always is.
This fat old man at a table next to me Yells out.
“Come on! Get him! Get him Russ!”
His whole table starts aggressively clapping. The house music seems like it keeps getting louder and louder. I can’t take it. I have to put my headphones back on. So I do.
These headphones were a gift given to me by my parents for Christmas a few years back. I didn’t really listen to music that much until I got them. Now I wear them more often than I don’t. I didn’t even know I wanted them and now it was like I needed them. I sound like a drug addict. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just headphones. Relax.
I pull out my phone and start scrolling on TikTok. Videos of movies that I haven’t seen but somehow know. People I recognize but can’t name. They’re doing dances I've seen but don’t understand. Singing songs I’ve heard… at least I think I’ve heard them. My thumb is swiping faster and faster. I’m not even watching these videos for more than seconds. Moments. I don’t know these people. I don’t know any of them.
I look up from my phone. I can’t do that anymore. I look around the room. I don’t know a single person here either. And none of them know me.
We live in this world, where everyone can finally talk. Finally. Everyone can talk and put it out there for people to hear. I guess the problem is that everyone is talking. Everyone is talking all of the time. There’s so many different sounds coming into my head at once. I can’t decipher any of it anymore.
I look up at the TV. I see all the various players running around on the field and court. 50 of them at least which means there's a hundred feet. I can hear none of their steps, none of them. I can’t bear to look anymore. I look down to my phone again. I realize, most of the time the video frame cuts off at their legs. Forget about hearing their footsteps, I can’t even see their feet.
The waiter comes back and sets the burger down on the table. He says something but my headphones are on. I didn’t even look at him. Just like I didn’t look at the menu. I just assumed they had a burger on it. Every bar has a burger, right? Now that I’m looking at it I can see bleu cheese dripping down the sides of the brioche bun. I can’t fucking stand bleu cheese. I hate bleu cheese. No one in this place here knows me. I can’t take it anymore. Everyone is talking but no one is listening.
My hands come up around my headphones. I have an idea. It’s sick and I know it. What if I stand up out of my booth and yell. What if I scream as loud as I can. Then they’ll have to look won’t they? They’ll have to hear me if I’m loud enough. I want them to look at me for some noble reason. To recognize me for who I am: a good person. But if they’re not gonna look. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll change. I’ll change into someone who stands up and yells.
I can feel it with my beating heart. Please. I feel all of the adrenaline rising and rising in my body. I’m sweating. I’m shaking. They’re gonna look. I know it.
I stand up. What’s this? It can’t be. All of the people around me stand up with me. Can they feel what I’m putting out there? Is this a sign from God? Ask and you shall receive? Isn’t that a thing? They can hear me, can’t they? Everyone is standing up with me. They’re sick of not being heard. They’re just like me! I know it! They’re all crying out.
A man puts his hands on his head and pulls at his hair. He lets it all out. Another one throws his arms straight up in the air above his head. He jumps up and down. He yells. I see euphoria, I see purging hatred, I see self expression. I see love.
I look at the man next to me. He stands before me. His eyes are wide. Mine fill with tears. I close them. I open my mouth and I let it all out. Finally.
I yell as loud as I can.
I slowly open my eyes again. The man next to me is looking right at me. I pull my headphones off of my head. I can hear again. Finally I can hear again. I need to hear him, like he’s heard me. What’s he going to say?
He grabs me and embraces me in his arms. We hug tightly. He’s hollering in my ear. He puts me back at arms distance and says
“Did you SEE that fucking catch! 49ers touchdown baby! Moneyline!”
He turns back to his friends, they high-five and cajole. I sit back in my booth as noiseless tears run down my face. It was all just an illusion. I’m alone again. I hear them point at me and say:
“That Motherfucker must a had money on the game huh? He’s crying!”
The worst part is. Well. I realize. My headphones were on when I screamed. I didn’t even remember to take my own headphones off. I didn’t even hear myself scream. What does that say about me? I’m just like them. I wipe my tears with the restaurant napkin. I take a bite of the burger. It’s actually not that bad.
Burger blunder!! Genius! I laughed out loud!