I’m officially old.
We went out to dinner with some friends last weekend to celebrate a birthday. The restaurant was packed and rowdy. It was dark. And it was loud.
When I say loud, I mean it in its loudest sense. It was nerve-shatteringly, eardrum-piercingly, body-shakingly loud.
I didn’t used to mind loud restaurants. When I was 18 or 19 my girlfriend and I used to go to Hard Rock Café in downtown
every single Friday night for dinner before going out. It was really loud in there, naturally, and it never bothered us. In fact, we’d go dancing after where it was even louder. Fun times! Boston
But now, it was just irritating. We couldn’t have a conversation. We couldn’t hear each other. We were screaming across the table. There was a lot of “huh?” and “what was that?” going on. We left with sore throats.
We still had a fun time, as we were out with good friends enjoying good food. But the excessive noise was a reminder that our idea of “fun” has definitely changed. I’ve become the old lady who says, “Turn that noise down!” And I’m okay with that.
OK, I’m getting off my shoebox now.