The Fan

The sound of chopped air pulsates throughout the room. “It’s all I could afford” I keep saying to myself. This huge metal monstrosity of an appliance has become the source of immense frustration the past few nights. It is now very much the epitome of a damned if I do, damned if I don’t scenario. I could not sleep without the recycled air blowing over me due to the above average summer heat and now I cannot sleep due to the noise. I have lost a large percentage of hearing in my left ear so ordinarily I can block out most noise by sleeping with my right ear buried into the pillow. Despite my hearing deficiency, this fan has managed to penetrate every last nerve ending in this ear and I now sit straight up to glare at it.

I examine all the buttons to find what must be a hidden lower level of operation which would result in less noise without success. Was this some sort of conspiracy by the manufacturer or perhaps a cruel joke? My mind played out a scenario of greasy haired engineers sitting in a room examining the plans for their creation. Then a German voice – not sure why the voice ended up being German really as this was an American made fan – exclaimed “But you know Hans, many people will utilize zis fan at night when trying to sleep.” “Ya” agreed Hans. “Soooo, would it not be a hoot if we tweaked it just so resulting in black noise as opposed to white noise?” “Oh, ya, ya” agreed Hans while trying very hard to control his laughter. This of course probably was not true but I need something to substantiate why this thing is so damned loud.

Click! There, the fan is off. Even without power, the blades continue to rotate and after a few minutes come to a complete stop. Immediately the oppression of the relentless trapped heat returns. I could open a window but the air outside is still so there would be no benefit of a draft. I plopped myself on the bed and just stared at the ceiling. The sweat from my forehead converged and began trickling down my face. I did not wipe it away though the sensation was irritating. Eventually my hand eradicated the sweat and I got up and opened the window and stuck my head outside. The noise of the city below screamed out and I was reminded of the other reason I kept the windows shut. I really do loathe noise.

This is not for me. It is not the fan nor the heat that is keeping me up. It is the constant reminder that I am in a place where I do not belong. I am cool evenings in quiet country air. My soul cries out for the simple and I have landed into the foreign complex. I thought I could embrace the city life. The exchange of simplicity over money and success was not at all a fair deal. I have given up too much. With a thud of a closed window, I have blocked it all out again. I then turned to my trusted new friend I rescued from a neighborhood yard sale. Click. With the air being chopped, the sound no longer grated but transformed into the roar of an airplane engine. I am going home.

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