I’ve Got You Under My Skin (or They Make A Cream For That Now)
There are so many things that make me angry. I can’t count the days when I’ve wanted to drive up on the sidewalk – Liberty City style – with Welcome To The Jungle blaring on the radio, and mow down the lot of you. I’m just kidding; that would never happen. I can’t stand Guns ‘n Roses.
The people I hate the most are the noisy ones. The kid on a skateboard at one o’clock on a school night. (Why are you not home in bed?) The drunks who pour out of the bars at 2:30 AM on a Tuesday, and then START YELLING AT THE TOP OF THEIR VOICES FOR NO GOOD REASON!
(But I can’t remember where I parked. Good.) The guy with the busted muffler who lets his truck idle for fifteen minutes at five in the morning. The construction workers who start drilling random holes in the road but never seem to fix anything, they usually start at around seven. By nine, they start cutting the grass and hammering shingles on their roofs. In the afternoon, there is always a guy with a table saw; he cuts so much wood you’d think he was building a new ark. And always somebody’s dog is barking, and barking, and barking…Yeah we get it. Squirrel. Sheesh. It’s no wonder I can’t get any sleep.
It’s not so much the noise itself that bothers me. I’m not a crusty old man yet. It’s just the fact that nobody seems to care. They walk around blissfully unaware of the naps they’re interrupting, the babies their waking, and the blog writers they are disturbing. It is the willful ignorance of other people’s needs that worries me. Because it is symptomatic of a greater societal ill: nobody cares about anyone besides themselves. Welcome to Ayn Rand’s utopia.