What I Hear (Blog #2) | *Crunch*

FINAL DRAFT:

I’m sitting here at Hunter college; getting homework done, and thinking about where I’m gonna do my sound-walk. I’m brainstorm running around the Upper-West-Side in the snow, but this doesn't appeal to me very much, so I think again. I notice that I am driven to remain in the warmth of this building and take my walk around Hunter, but, I worry that “Hunter” isn't a viable option for the assignment. So I brainstorm some more.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of a bag of “Doritos" being opened, catches my attention. 

All my attention. 

In an instant. 

The sharp *crinkle* of a girl pulling at the bag- opening the bag- is music to my hungry ears. I turn my head so that my eardrums can be that much closer to the noise. They want to be as close to the sound as possible, so they can wait in anticipation of the next, even more satisfying sound. 

*Crunch.*

I take a deep inhale and realize I’d just been holding my breath.

Literally holding my breath, waiting for that crunch.

Because; Ah, that crunch is satisfying.  

And, I guess my sound-walk is gonna be at Hunter College, after all. 

… 

But first, bathroom. I need to pee. The door groans as I push it open, and it lightly collides with a girl waiting in line on the other side. She sharply inhales with surprise. 

“Oh.” 

The fear and spontaneity in her inhale cause me to instinctually apologize and feel worried about her. She acknowledges my concern with a little, polite smile, and turns back to her phone to *tap* away at the screen with her fake nails. She’s fine. 

But the sound of her nails against the phone-screen isn’t. 

The drumming noise is small, sharp, and annoying and brings up one of my go-to-frustrations; society’s never-ending obsession with our phones. Her *tap-tap-tapping* continues to bother me until she finally makes her way to a newly-emptied bathroom stall. 

I continue to wait in line. 

A toilet flushes. 

Then another (further off). 

The latch on the first stall clicks, and the door squeaks open, to reveal a girl in a *crinkling* raincoat. I like her raincoat. So I listen. 

I listen as she makes a *push-push-push* noise on the foam soap dispenser. 

I listen as her knuckle *cracks* as she rubs the foamy soap on her hands. 

I listen as she turns on the sink- *squeeeeak…*- and runs her hands through the violently *whooshing* water coming out of the faucet. Once finished, she flicks water from her fingers and goes to *deeper push-deeper push-deeper push* the tab to get some paper-towel from it’s dispenser. As she leaves, her Uggs *scuff* the tiles of the bathroom floor, and her raincoat happily *crinkles* some more, while she reaches into it’s pocket.

How comforting, These crinkles...

*crinkle, crinkle, crinkle...*

And then she pulls out her phone. 

Ugh. 

Suddenly the comforting *crinkle* of her plastic raincoat becomes another instrument in the orchestra of my building frustration at the relationship between our society and cell-phones. 

…

My sound-walk was made up of experiences like these.

It mainly consisted of me becoming aware of the white-noise/background-noise sounds that I’m always taking for granted at Hunter, and becoming aware of how they make me feel. 

The sounds of background chatter around the hallways, the sound of the Hunter-card *beep* as people walked into the building and placed their card on the corner of the turnstile, or the sound of the janitor’s mop bucket rolling down the hall, move me more than I had ever realized. They move me, because these are my “Hunter” soundmarks, and I love Hunter. 

Then, some sounds, like the sounds I hear while riding the elevator, instill an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. The vacuum sound of the doors opening and closing, the white-noise-suffocating-but-dead-silence sound of the ride, the illusively/creepily happy *dings* of the bell signaling the different levels, etc. make me uneasy. Which explains why I am always the first person to suggest taking the stairs. 

And, I guess some sounds drive me nuts because they spur me to think about society and cell-phones. Go figure.