I planned many years ago to be an Old Fart, or maybe an Old Coot. My whole life has prepared me for this.
My old Fart/Coot-dom comes into full swing when I encounter Muzak a.k.a. Music.
It blared out at the Renaissance Hotel in Elizabeth, New Jersey where I recently stayed. I wrote a complaint about this.
In our local plaza there is a branch of an Aarons “Rent to Own” (a.k.a. “Rip-off artists“) furniture, electronics and home appliance store. From there ghastly music utters forth outside as well as in. It can be heard some 50 feet away from the store’s front door.
And so it goes at most of the local drug stores and supermarkets.
It’s designed to encourage me to buy yet more. But I resist the music, and refuse to be seduced. I take a list of items when I shop. I purchase only from the list.
And I complain to the store owners or managers about their cacophonies; their screaming sound systems.
Old farts hate noise pollution. And maybe young farts too!