As I’m sitting here in Starbucks in Kansas City, I find a group of young men, or “bros,” sitting right by me having a very noisy conversation about the Kansas City Chiefs. The Chiefs got a new coach who has reminded them that winning is, in fact, allowed by the NFL rulebook, and they have been exploiting the hell out of this new-found loophole, so you tend to hear quite a lot about them when you go out in this city.
But I’m connected to my laptop, trying to listen through headphones to some lovely music by Brahms, so their Chiefs-related noise is a bit of a disturbance. I don’t always listen to classical music, but when I do, certain conditions are needed.
Listen to a bit of this:
Compare and contrast to this:
… or play them at the same time to see what my morning has become.
Obviously, the two cannot coexist. I have the courtesy to not play a violin concerto over the loudspeaker at Arrowhead Stadium, and so it seems fair that they should not use their Arrowhead Stadium voices in Starbucks. So, I consider my options. I could turn around and politely ask them to lower the noise level. But that would mean talking to the bros. As you can see from the title of this post, I am in a very bad mood. On the list of people I want to speak to, these particular bros fall somewhere below telemarketers with speech impediments.
So here’s another idea I’m kicking around: I’ll seduce the barista, spend weeks with her, and get her to fall in love with me. By then I’ll have learned some terrible, shameful secret of hers, and in a cold and calculated betrayal, I’ll use that to blackmail her into asking the bros to please quiet the hell down.
It’s an intricate and difficult plan, and lives will no doubt be ruined. It may also seem unnecessarily complex, and I have zero interest in any barista, plus in the time it has taken to write this blog post, the bros have gone away to infest some other unfortunate location. But the itch remains: the Kansas City Chiefs have interfered with my Brahms. Someone must pay.