Deaf, but still ‘amazingly swaggerific’

Encourage your children to go to medical school and become an otologist. Or, in simple words, an ear doctor. I foresee a big future in it, because I guarantee you that in a few decades, society is going to be full of middle-aged deaf people. I know this because I see them actively destroying their ears now as young adults and teenagers.

You’ve seen them too, driving around in their cars loaded full of sub-woofers, boom-boom-booming down the road. Even better, you’ve heard them driving through your neighborhood at late hours with this crap cranked up. Like the world’s most obnoxious ice cream man, they feel the need to announce to the world they’re coming.

I don’t get it. Don’t get me wrong, I like good music and when I’m by myself, I’ve been known to crank it up from time to time as I’m cruising along. But I can still hear my car, I can still see through my rear-view mirror (it’s not vibrating itself to pieces from over-sized bass) and when I pull into a neighborhood, parking lot or even just sitting at a busy intersection with cars around me, I turn it down a bit.

Do you young people feel like you’re doing a public service by sharing your music? Is that it? Because of course, everybody likes the same music you do, right? Yes indeed, just the other day I was thinking to myself, “You know what would be good right now? Some profanity laced rap! It’s been awhile since I’ve heard some and gosh golly gee, I’ve got my children here with me and I sure would like it if they could hear some, too!”

And poof! Like magic comes a Ford Explorer with just that thumping from his rig. Just to make sure we could get a good listen, he had all four windows down. Thank you, kind sir! Oh, thank you!

What I was actually thinking was how epic it would be if I were to follow you home to see where you live. Then, long after you’ve gone to sleep, I would duct tape about three air horns together, tape down the triggers and toss them through your bedroom window. What, all that racket waking you up wouldn’t bother you, would it?

Maybe I’m just old and crotchety and need to get with the times. Fortunately, I make more money than the average teen so I can afford more. Maybe my sweet old Jeep, “Mallory,” would do well dressed out with the Valley’s largest mobile sound system. That way I could “share,” too! Just imagine me pulling up next to that kid in the little car with the loud music. He would be bumping his tunes and I could bump mine. I’m thinking the entire side of my Jeep covered in the largest speakers ever, so when I turn up my tunes it blows all the glass out of his car and his eardrums drip down his sideburns. But since I “know” that everybody likes the same kind of music I like, perhaps I’ll use some Bach, Waylon Jennings or early ’80s Van Halen.

Of course, the most impressive part of the huge bass speakers is the way it makes your car sound from the outside. I know you’re tucked away in there thinking that we’re all just swooning over how absolutely awesome you are, what with all the racket your jalopy is making. We must be since we’re all staring, right? Wrong. We’re staring because every screw, nut, handle, latch and both license plates are vibrating horribly. Your ride sounds like a garbage sack full of aluminum cans and angry bees. Oh, and did you know with the stereo turned up like that you missed the way your engine is pinging or knocking? Did you know you missed the ambulance behind you with the siren going, the driver getting angry because you’re not pulling off to the right? No worries. When you’re as amazingly swaggerific as you are, the whole world will understand.

So indeed, I do think to the future and imagine what the nursing homes will be like. I envision the elderly covered in tattoos that can’t be made out anymore, holes all over their faces from piercings as they all scream at each other in vain, trying to be heard or hear what somebody else is saying. Oh well, at least they were “cool” back in the day. Or so they thought anyway.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column as “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.