C'est-Noise-O-Ick Era
Twice a week, the recycling trucks from the city of Paris collect glass from the recycling bin each building has or can have. There are about twenty such bins which belong to the buildings on either side and across the street from mine.
Twice a week, at 7AM, sometimes still in bed, I can hear the supersonic (or so it seems) truck making its way down my street, starting at the farther end from me and slowly making its way closer and closer, collecting each bin it finds on the pavement, one by excrutiating one.
When the contents of the first bin begin to fall in the hold of the truck, my brain lets out a small shriek which vaguely says "get me as far away from this as possible, now!," so I get up, which-- believe it or not-- doesn't help.
When the truck is right in front of my building, the noise is so loud and appalling that it becomes almost sublime; then, my brain seems to be saying in a low voice coming out of the haze of a champagne-tobacco pipe: "I believe it's raining Kryptonite."
Constant loud noise is one of the more unpleasant factors one must deal with when living in such a densely populated city. Neighbours screaming, yippie dogs barking in the flat next door, ppl who still haven't grasped that the point of a telephone is that you don't need to scream to be heard (worse when it's in public transport and the offender is right next to you), drivers who don't understand that honking their horns will not make the aforementioned recycling truck go faster, ppl who are under the impression we all would like nothing better than to share in the pleasure of their milibellian car stereo, etc.
One of my friends claims to have once killed a cockroach by screaming v loudly at it for a quarter of an hour, give or take (who timed it? I'd love to know). I didn't think that was possible, because, if I'm honest, I'm not sure cockroaches can hear, or if they have ears, even; but if they do, I now think it is entirely believable.
1 comment:
And as always, ok, every other full moon, I have a ingenious solution to this travesty of noise pollution. Plastic. That's right, plastic bottles, plastic cups, plastic everything. It's much quieter than glass. Resists breaking, the trucks can carry more and thus, use less fuel and perhaps even cut collections to once a week. It's even recyclable as well and requires less energy than glass to return to a liquid state to be re-processed. Yes, plastic. The wonder material for all mankind. And in the event of an errant and impatient motorist being accosted by a non-aficionado of the tonal qualities incumbent to a car horn, a plastic bottle causes fewer demands for medical professionals.
Next week, I'll provide a treatise on the merits of molding truck tires out of styrofoam and why gerbil propulsion using a direct ethanol injection/methane recycling afterburner has merit. I'm working out the kinks on excessive fuel consumption with the initial hydrocarbon exchange. There's been a slight explosion hazard during testing.
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