To Muzak

I love the canned music the restaurant next door to work plays. While I’m barreling down the four flights of stairs, desperate for a coffee not for the caffeine but for the five minutes of peace each all too short break gets me, its somehow soothing to hear “nobody said it was easy” floating in through the open windows.

As I’m hurtling down the stairs at the end of the workday, trying to put as much physical space as I can between myself and the nearest classroom, I’m surrounded by the familiar strains of the kind of music I like to blast in the car with the windows rolled down as early in the year as it’s warm enough to do it.

It’s funnier, of course, when the recordings in question have been done by someone who evidently had great admiration for the original artist, but lacked their grasp of the patterns of English speech. But this is one of the few restaurants around that seems to play, if not entirely original recordings, certainly a majority share.

It also helps that the restaurant’s logo is:


Which kinda looks like the way Dilbert characters swear. All in all, quite the mechanism for brightening my day.


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