Nasty Conjugation

Tonight I went to Pizza Hut. I just wanted to lay down and sleep. I’ve been to this particular Pizza Hut location since I was nine or ten, I think. Maybe it wasn’t built until I was fifteen. It doesn’t matter.

The music here is safe. There are no sharp edges, no unexpected turns. It’s all been worn by years of easy listening stations, eroded down to Phil Collins, any non-socially conscious Springsteen song, Ninety-Nine Red Balloons (but not the original version, in German).

Music like this is not made to be heard on its own. As a culture we have worked hard to indoctrinate it into the background hum, ground it to atoms so we can breathe it in and out. Easy listening music was made to be heard filtered through a crowded restaurant. It was made to accompany the buzz of fluorescent lighting in elevators, to provide counterpoint to the tap of the dentist’s tools. Only then is the song complete.

My booth at Pizza Hut is warm red leather, like a womb. I know that if I spread out in the booth and sleep that they will take care of me. My waitress, Heather, will see that I have drifted off and come wake me by softly stroking my hair. The manager, Dave, will come and ask if I had nightmares, whispering soft comfort as he eases my head to suckle at his breast.

This entry was posted on Friday, March 3rd, 2006 at 12:08 am and is filed under Entropy. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.