Waiting tables in a chain restaurant, which has taken up much of my life recently, has had some unforseen consequences. Other than the killer daily backache, probably related to my ol’ spinal injury, the big one is the muzak. I hadn’t even thought about it, but throughout the place, from the tables to the bar1 to the kitchen to the bathrooms, is the same offensively unoffensive music. In the days of old it would’ve been piped in via vaccum tube straight from the deepest sound studios of hell, but these days, it’s beamed directly in from Evil Satellites in Space!
It’s insidious, really; it’s not something I notice as the day goes on – I’m too busy running around in circles, or, if time allows, schmoozing with my tables. Clearly, though, my subconscious, lacking anything better to do while I’m on the job, is picking it up and storing it, so that the next day, I can wake up with my brain inexplicably singing Mariah Carey’s “Emotions.”
1. Actually, the music in the bar is about a second behind everywhere else, which makes working in the entryway, I’m told, particularly maddening.