Give peace a chance.

Now playing at your local theater.

A performance to delight your ears and soothe your soul. Not.

A symphony of sounds unmatched by Pandora or your stereo system. True.

Welcome to tonight’s performance: The Cacophony of the Cooler.

It opens with a bass. A pahpahpahpahpoundpoundpoundpoundpound. Like the driving revolutions of a car engine.

Poundpoundpoundpoundpound. Never rising or falling. Steady. Unrelenting. A bass that fills the air. You can feeeeel the powpowpowpow into your bones. You become one with the deep pulsations. Oh the glory!

Cue the rattle.

Ratratratratratratratratratratraat. The sound of metal shimmy-ing ‘n’ shaking. Like rain on a corrugated tin roof. Shshshshshshshshshake shishishishishimy.

Cue the treble.

A high pitch. Like the siren of a police car muffled by blankets. Y’all know that sound of a siren — hopefully passing you, not after you. Also steady. Unrelenting. The Ear-Bleeder note that can’t be missed. A note so high that you swear it should be heard only by dogs.

Indeed, welcome to the Cacophony of the Cooler.

Otherwise known as the swamp cooler of the #8 mobile home next to mine.

Mere yards separate our spaces, thus I am privy to this performance — though I don’t recall buying a ticket to this performance from purgatory.

Enter the conductor of the symphony.

A lad, 20, first time living on his own, who never. turns. the. cooler. off. Never. Ever.

How can a boy working in a bagel shop afford it? I don’t ask. {Family assistance I reckon?}

How is it that a thin lad of vim and vigor even needs a cooler constantly running? I don’t ask. {Wussified whining spoiled entitled American youth with no tolerance for “anything uncomfortable” I reckon.}

How is it that a lad runs it 24/7 even when it’s not that hot? {Daytime temps in the 80s-90s, nights in the 50s. This ain’t Phoenix two hours to the south, where three months of 115+ daily scorchers understandably do require constant coolers. Lack of toughness in today’s youth I reckon.}

How is it that a cooler producing a cacophony of doesn’t explode or implode of its own overworking load? {Could help that to happen I reckon …}

Cue the theater manager. The landlord — coincidentally a plumber with swamp cooler skills. I brought the matter to his attention. “It doesn’t sound normal,” I relayed.

He did what most any mechanically-inclined man would do. He oiled it. Perused the parts. Determined they’re in good working order.

Lubrication altered nothing.

The chorus of thumpings, rattles and ear-bleeders pollute every room of my home. It’s terrible. Especially as I depend on my space to be my sanctuary, my place to chill. Hahah, no pun intended.

It’s terrible. Because to sleep, I must shut all those windows. Shutting out the night air that would cool my space.

It’s terrible. I awaken to this aural nightmare and go to sleep to it. Every day. No rest. No break. Forget the summer heat! It’s my neighbor’s cooler that I need relief from — seriously!

This is what I’ve to look forward to for the next three months. This disconcerting concert of dissonance.

I’m trapped in a theater of sound. It ain’t pretty. It ain’t relaxing. And it most definitely is not serene.

Round-the-clock performances of the Cacophony of the Cooler. Never stopping. Never ending. Never pausing for an intermission. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

The grinding. The pounding. The ear-bleeder pitches. The rumbles and rattles.

As if that ain’t reason enough to tear out my hair, move or sleep in my car parked a mile away, here’s the show-stopper:

Headaches. Migraines.

You see, I’m no stranger to bone-crunchers. Chronic headaches are one thing. I have ’em.

Migraines, however, are on a whole other level. They’re seriously debilitating. They munch on headaches for snacks! And one of my Big Triggers: sound.

Hence it’s no surprise that since this crap at home began, my stress headaches are returned with a vengeance and my migraine(s) a near-constant companion.

I want to tell the skinny lad to cut it out. To shut it off. To give it a rest sometimes. To at the very least wise up and realize: A cooler is not needed when nights are comfortably cool!

I want to tell him to man up. You’re not an elderly gentleman at risk of heatstroke. You’re 20! Robust in health and mind. {supposedly …}

I want to tell him to consider his neighbor. His gargantuan metal beast is mere yards away from half my space. I can drown out the invasions of noise only by so much music so much of the time.

I can endure only so long. Seal up my bedroom — and myself within it — in the cool of night only so many times before I start getting seriously pissed off.

I can put up with headaches and migraines only so long. I so want to tell him to grow a pair. To think of his neighbor and the noise pollution that he doesn’t notice.

Not implying “don’t use your cooler.” But use REASON. Common sense. Give it a rest. Give your neighbor a break.

Give peace a chance.

I want to go to the nearest Rent-a-Center and get my hands on one of these. (Anyone know how much horsepower’s required to cut metal?)



Talk to Me

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s