Unbreak My Ears

In this modern technological age, we think we’ve got it pretty good. And we do, don’t get me wrong. However, it’s important to realize that without a little vigilance on the part of the individual, things can go horribly awry.

An example:

Because selling is the lubricant that keeps the Multi National Mega Global pump primed, our sales force is often on the road. They'll generally call in for messages or to request some kind of menial assistance, as did Noah, yesterday. This time, though, it turns out that it’s not really Noah calling, but rather Noah’s mobile. Upon picking up the line, I realize that I have been bamboozled into the cell phone’s plot to mercilessly invade Noah‘s privacy. It’s calling from his pocket because the keypad isn’t locked.

His work number must be pretty high up on his speed dial, because this is not the first time it has happened. It is, however, the first time it has happened while the phone is in his shirt pocket, not his jacket pocket. How do I know? Dude is blasting an easy listening station while he drives, and it's not muffled one bit. Generally, for my own sake I hang up and call back immediately to advise that the cellular unit is making rogue calls. Unfortunately, just as I am about to do this, the song “Unbreak My Heart” comes on and he starts to sing along.

Oh, the horror.

Now, I’m not really the easy-listening sort, but I have to admit that Toni Braxton has got pipes. That girl can sing, and sing well. If her musical style were more to my taste, I could reasonably be expected to own some Toni Braxton. On the other hand, listening to Noah ruthlessly butcher Toni Braxton is excruciating, especially from the lamentable vantage point of his very own breast pocket, which leaves no unhit note unheard.

And, oh God, are they unhit.

It’s a train wreck, a paralyzing human imitation of cats being tortured with a dentist's drill. The falsettos, the made up lyrics, the changing of octaves mid-note; all of it bad enough were he a decent singer, but the man obviously couldn’t identify a tune if it came up, shook his hand and introduced itself. I’m still impressed his car windows didn’t blow out right then and there, a clear testament to Mercedes Benz engineering if there ever was one, I think.

Stirring me out of my stupor is a pause in the action as he speaks with the garage attendant downstairs. Downstairs. The realization that I will be face to face with the singing sensation himself in two minutes or less isn’t sobering enough to wipe the puerile grin from my face, so I do the only reasonable thing I can think of – hide in the ladies' room. He walks though the lobby to his office as I giggle my ass off in private.

Problem solved.

So, to Noah: right off the top there are three main obstacles to your singing Toni Braxton with any modicum of dignity-
1) You’re tone deaf.
2-3) Your testicles.

To everyone else: Lock your cell phone keypads.

Please.