The sweet sound of crap

I’m camped out at the Honda dealership, waiting for them to charge me a gazillion dollars for routine maintenance. And there’s a group of people discussing, in graphic detail, one man’s ongoing to issues with breaking his foot.

Dude, you are a complete stranger and I am squeamish. I don’t want to hear about the bone of your second toe recessing into your foot and the surgery to pull it back out. It’s too damn early for me to barf on the carpet of a car dealership.

And who asks a complete stranger about his cast, how he got it, the surgery required, and all the medical details? And who answers these questions for a complete stranger?

It’s like the world has become one giant reality TV show. Of course we want and deserve to hear all the gory details of stuff that’s really none of our damn business. And if you allow the world to see your dirty laundry, you’ll be a star!

I Love New York, I’m looking at you.

I would, however, like to see a reality show about people involved in making Muzak. Do they sit around and say, “This is an earth-shattering R&B song featuring one of the most amazing voices ever recorded. How can we dumb it down for people in Honda dealerships the world over?”

Is there some Muzak-sponsored research that supports the idea that people are more likely to a) buy cars and b) take the dealer’s first offer just so they can escape hideous renditions of Midnight Train to Georgia?

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