I am a chronic eavesdropper. As a result, when I am trying to work I need extreme quiet. If I take a seat next to people who are talking, no matter how hard I try not to, I will end up learning their dogs’ names, how drunk their roommates were last night and why they didn’t deserve to fail some test.
I find myself constantly seeking out quiet environments where I can read in peace without helplessly struggling to block out the noise around me. And finally it happened — I found the silence I had been hoping for, just not exactly in the way I was expecting.
I had volunteered to be the driver for a Catholic Student Ministry event at Camp Holiday Trails. If you’ve been there before, you know getting to the camp involves driving up a very long, very narrow and very windy gravel road.
About halfway up this road, I drove over a surprisingly large pothole, and moments later I saw the “tire pressure low” light come on my dashboard. There was no way I could stop in the middle of this road, what with a caravan of cars behind me, so I kept on trekking.
We thankfully made it to the top of the road, and at that point the assertive message read, “Tire needs air now.” I probably should have been more receptive to its urgency, but the tire appeared fine, so I decided just to see how it was at the end of the event.
Two hours later I returned to my car and — sure enough — I had a flat tire. Luckily, I had my AAA card with me and was able to call for roadside assistance. Unluckily, I was told it would take 45 minutes for them to get there. Soon, everyone had left except for my boyfriend, and the two of us found ourselves sitting there in my car, alone, in the middle of a huge campsite, at midnight. Silence at last!
And then an axe murderer knocked on our window.
Just kidding. But seriously — I felt as if I was on the set of a horror movie. I didn’t have a lot of gas left so we couldn’t keep the car running. The only light we had was a flashlight. It was about 40 degrees at this point, so the windows were getting progressively foggier as we sat inside. If there had been an axe murderer around, we would not have been able to see him.
Once I overcame the situation’s distinctly scary vibes, I began to think about how creepy we must seem to any passersby, alone at a seemingly abandoned campsite in the middle of the night. Not that there was anyone within a mile radius of us. Thankfully, when the truck driver made it up the windy gravel road, he did not interrogate us as to our whereabouts or our motives. He fixed the tire in less than five minutes, and we were good to go.
And that puts me where I am now, writing this column from the inside of University Tire & Auto, where I am waiting for my temporary tire to be changed.
Here, my silence is fleeting, my train of thought now facing constant interruption from the bizarre talk show being played in the waiting room. Honestly — how do these shows get airtime? Who watches them?
Oh, that’s right. I am watching it. But that’s only because phrases like “smelly scalp syndrome” are extremely difficult to block out of one’s consciousness. For your sake, I’ll leave the rest of the disgusting medical conditions I am being forced to listen to out.
I suppose there are a few morals to this story: don’t sit near me if you don’t want me to listen to everything you are saying, don’t ignore the warning lights on your dashboard and — most importantly — if you ever struggle with smelly scalp syndrome, the good folks of University Tire & Auto’s television will likely be able to help you out.
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