I Didn't Ask for a Wake-up Call...

Sometimes, I remember phantoms of the bygone days. This includes certain vehicles that would make the heart of every child within earshot race with excitement and anticipation. With a catchy little jingle, these white boxes-on-wheels would roam up and down the street, eventually flagged down by a little boy or girl. The smiling ice cream man would serve up his popsicles, and all would be well in life.

Once every so often, I’m hit with a feeling of nostalgia.

This was not one of those days.

Please imagine if you will a darkened bedroom. Two futons and their accompanying blankets have been sprawled across the tatami floor. The window shutters are tightly closed, allowing only a sliver of early morning light to land between two motionless bulges, whose true identities are hidden beneath layers of covers.

This is the story of one of those comforter-swathed futon dwellers, completely caught up in the throes of deep slumber.

The peaceful morning silence is shattered…

“I struggle to go back to sleep. The noise keeps intruding and jerking at my consciousness. My befuddled brain doesn’t know what to make of the incomprehensible intrusion. Surely it must be an emergency. Surely the gates of malignant darkness have broken loose and we have only moments to flee the city before we’re consumed. And then, I hear it. Crystal clear, in fact. A phrase I’ve heard many a time on countless television shows. The meaning is etched clearly in my mind.

‘Oishii Desu!’

It’s delicious… it’s delicious??? It’s Delicious????

What the… some jerk in a van interrupted my slumber to sell some lousy OCTOPUS??? How dare he?!?!? I mean, it’s not even the driver shouting! The assault on my ear drums is coming from an ancient, scratchy tape recording rigged to blare on loudspeakers that break fundamental sound barriers mounted on top of the wretched vehicle! If you’re going to wake me up so rudely, AT LEAST do it in person!

With something between a snarl and a whimper, I jerk the covers back over my head and slam my eyes shut, determined to capture whatever snatches of precious rest remain within reach.

Alas, it wasn’t to be.”

What you’ve just read is the tragic account of a perfectly innocent morning ruined by the un-invited (but highly announced) commercial blaring of an Octopus truck rolling by, enticing the neighborhood to start their day off right by purchasing some pre-determined portions of the delicious, steaming, fresh sucker-covered invertebrate.

Now don’t get me wrong. I like octopus. I do indeed think it’s delicious. But not at seven in the morning. On a precious, lazy Sunday when sleeping in is actually an option.

Do these people ever sleep? I mean, I know our neighbors are quite active after midnight and bumping around before six in the morning regardless of the week day, but seriously. That… that just isn’t right.

The best part of this whole thing was that the vendor drove up and down every little side street and dead end around us for a good 30 minutes with his sound system set so loud that the very foundations of our apartment shook. I couldn’t have done with just the violent wake-up call. Really. I needed my surroundings to rumble a bit too. Thanks for your concern.

Aren’t there some noise ordinance laws or something? When’s the next election? I know of a *great* platform for the next aspiring politician.