23 November 2007

The Pervasiveness of Portable Music Players


The other day I was walking to work from the bus station where I get off. It's about a ten minute walk. Along the way, I pass several hotels, eateries, shops, the Trax line stations (what the rest of the world calls metro or subway stations), etc. City stuff. Before it got cold, you would see business types, college students, the homeless (you always see them), mom's, dad's, kids, and teens skipping class. It was nice to walk along, seeing the sights, smiling at strangers and gazing in windows. Smelling fresh pizza or steaming curry or a multitude of other hot dishes as you strolled in front of shops was always a treat o the nose.

But lately I've noticed a change. I walk down those same streets, and no one smiles at one another. People at the Trax stations are quiet, except for the person with a cell phone glued to their ear (I admit, sometimes that person is me). People in check out stands are distant and unresponsive to the checkout clerks. Children follow their parents listlessly, college students clutch their backpacks and stare blankly ahead, the business types are no longer glancing up from a hand-full of papers to smile. Instead they stride through the streets oblivious to every one around them.

People these days are perpetually preoccupied, caught up in their own little world. But it's not stress, it's not overwhelming work loads, bills, family, or even a really bad case of the blues. It's portable music devices. (Note: Because I'm pretty much only familiar with i-pods, they are going to be the only brand named. They are by far not the only ones.)

They are every where, pervading every aspect of our lives. Driving to the store? Listen to your i-pod. Paying the clerk for your groceries or gas? Listen to your i-pod. Sitting at your desk, in the office, surrounded by your coworkers? Listen to your i-pod! What ever you do, where ever you go, plug-in, tune-out, listen to your i-pod. Really, that should be the slogan for these things.

My problem isn't with the devices themselves. When I was in college I loved having mine. I could go to the library and read, using mine to tune out the distracting background noise while at the same time, keeping me awake. It was nice to tune out my various room mates (and their God-forsaken TVs). Now that I am home, I find the place I wish to use my i-pod the most is on the bus commute to and from work (while I enjoy being around people, that doesn't mean I want to listen to conversations in Spanish, one-sided arguments with boyfriends, or the bus-driver making inconsequential conversation with whomever happens to sit near them).

What my problem is, is how these devices are used. I have seem people use them as they drive, which I find this very disturbing. Yes, turning up the car stereo can drown out the sounds around you, but not nearly as much (or effectively) as head-phones plugged directly into your ears. Those head-phones drown out the guy yelling at you as you drive into the cross walk in front of him, the fire or ambulance sirens coming from a block away, the beeping as you switch lanes, and more. The pedestrian whose attention is focused on the music pouring into his head isn't paying attention to the driver who is speeding up to the crosswalk the woman trying to make the turn in front of you. And I can't begin to explain how rude I find it when someone comes up to you to pay for something and refuses to unplug for that brief moment. I have seen librarians, checkout clerks, and restaurant servers ignored, their friends (though sometimes required) greeting - "Hi, how are you today" - or offer of assistance gone unanswered. All because that someone is plugged in, oblivious to the world around them.

And I say all this from experience. I have been that person in the car, trying to get over, signaling for what seems like ages, only to have the car right on my back bumper ignore me. And when they pass me, and I look over to glare, they are plugged in, oblivious. I have been at the street corner, seeing by the timer that I don't have time to cross, only to watch the business person stride into the street, belatedly realizing they shouldn't cross (I've also been the driver freaked out because I think they are going to cross in front of my oncoming car). I've been the desk jockey, trying to ask the person in front of me if they need any help, only to be ignored because they can't hear me. I've been the person sitting with a client trying to explain something to someone with head-phones securely in place, wondering if they could really hear me, or if they were even listening to me.


I find it rude. I find it obtrusive. I find it annoying. But most of all, I find it disheartening. What happened to simple human interaction? When did our music become more important than smiling at the door man guarding the hotel, or the woman in the seat next to us on the train, or the bus driver who says hello? When did our music become more important than saying thank you and have a nice day to the clerk or server who took care of us? When did our music become more important than being aware of the world around us and those sharing our moment of existence?

When did our music become more important than other people?

2 comments:

Caspur said...

I don't get out much. I miss living close to downtown. Where I would walk a mile or so and be in the heart of Salt Lake. But not being there I don't see the I-Pod in everyones ear. Usually when I go out I am either with someone trying desperately to pay attention to them, but more often then not, especially when I am alone I am wrapped in my own thoughts. My mind is my I-pod and sometimes I hear music.

Anonymous said...

Nice post. Silence and personal relationships are the essence of our humanity. If we must fill the emptiness in our heads with noise and we shut out people in the process, we have ceased to be human. I work in client's homes all the time that have a TV in every room of the house that is constantly on. They cannot IMAGINE that I don't want music a TV or something filling the air while I work. I tell them I'm comfortable in my own head, thankyou.