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Illustration by Alex Siklos
Sometimes, I feel as though I’m in a Twilight Zone episode, one where I’m aware that people are living around me while others live and act as though they’re alone in this city.
As a child, I was taught that if I’m making a lot of noise in a shared or public place, I’ve got to tone it down, go somewhere private or stop it. But lately, that doesn’t seem to be happening.
Recently, I had a day that was chaotic with obligations, changed plans, malfunctioning appliances and a stalled car. I needed a break, badly. So, I went to a local coffee shop, hoping for a chair, a half-sweet latte and a good book about something positive that would change the channel in both my brain and body to a quieter station.
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Sitting with my book and coffee, I was relaxing. And then the voice started. A man several seats away was standing next to a young woman with an open laptop. He was informing her about the importance of a workplace database. He might as well have been informing all of us in that coffee shop and a few streets over. He bellowed as though he was giving a presentation to a packed auditorium and the people in the cheap seats had no trouble hearing him.
I read the same sentence five times in my book. The sound of the man’s voice was so loud it dominated my thoughts.
That’s when my internal protest started.
“How can he be so self-absorbed not to realize that his loud voice is affecting other people?”
I didn’t just want him to stop, I wanted him to understand how his behaviour was trespassing on the thoughts and actions of everyone in this place. I took a few deep breaths and walked over to his table.
“Excuse me.”
He stopped and answered, “Yes?”
“I was just wondering, if you would you be interested in knowing about the book I’m reading? I could read you a chapter or two?”
He spoke slowly to me, as though he thought I might be socially challenged.
“No. It’s okay. We don’t want to hear about what you’re reading, thanks.”
He smirked to the woman beside him.
“Can I ask why?” I said.
They looked at each other. He answered more curtly this time, “We’re busy doing our own work here.” He let me know that the conversation was over by staring at his friend’s laptop.
“Well,” I added. “Then maybe you can understand why I don’t want to hear about your database. The past 10 minutes I’ve been trying to read my book and it’s been impossible because of how loud your voice is. Against my will, I’ve been immersed in what you’re interested in and what you’re doing, and I don’t want to be. I just want to have a coffee and read without bothering anyone with what I’m interested in. I’d really appreciate it if you could do the same. Thank you.”
With his mouth agape, I went back to my seat. His soliloquy stopped and a few moments later they packed up and left.
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A few days later I was at an intimate restaurant with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while when a guy at the next table started a video call on his phone with the volume on full blast.
When I kindly asked him if he could lower the volume so I could hear my friend, he slammed his fist on the table, gathered his children and belongings and yelled, “I can’t believe this. Waitress! Take me to another table. I don’t have to put up with this crap!”
There’s seems to be more of this lately: Music blasting from skateboarders behind me while I’m cycling, a guy yelling into his phone at a public place of rest, etc. Yet, no one is doing anything about it. That’s the strange part.
Some readers might think, “If you’re in a public space you have to accept noise around you.” I agree, but it depends on the location. If I’m at a hockey game and I decide to meditate in the stands, the audience wins. But in a coffee shop, doctor’s office, emergency room, etc., ongoing loud noise doesn’t feel right.
Years back I read a line that stated, “Silence is consent.” If you don’t take action to stop it, it’s the equivalent to saying, “I’m good with this behaviour. Keep doing it.”
If no one is doing anything about it, I guess I’ll have to go to libraries or cemeteries if I want some peace? Not really. The other day I was at the library searching through periodicals, when a man seated nearby watched a video on his phone with the sound on full blast. No one asked him to stop.
So, I guess it’s got to be cemeteries. I’ll read books and meet friends in cemeteries from now on: Might be a bit dead, but at least we’ll hear each other. I hope
Isabella Mindak lives in Ottawa.