On Snoring, Mutilation and Wanting to Kill the Man Giving Birth to the Mucus Baby

I am fairly certain that there is no single sound that is more annoying than that of a person snoring. Nails on a chalkboard? Bring it on. Car alarm in the middle of the night? I wasn’t tired anyway. A baby crying in the movie theater? Babies are cute and most movies these days are pointless.

Snoring? Dear God in heaven, I may have to stick a knife in my ears.

I have always been sensitive to the sound of snoring. As a kid, I would often sleep on the couch so as to avoid hearing my parents snoring in the room next to mine. As an adult, I have put strain on many a relationship by not being able to share a bed with a snoring partner.

Thank God for ear plugs.

The other day I was on the train when a very large man lumbered on board and sat directly behind me. His breathing seemed a tad labored, and for a split second I wondered if he was going to have a heart attack right there on the train. Sadly, I would not have been surprised.

After a few minutes my mind began to wander, and I forgot all about the man behind me. I was thinking about the guy from the bar last weekend. I was thinking about the strange weather we’ve been having. I was thinking about monkeys. I was not thinking about him. But then I heard him.

He was snoring.

This was not just your garden variety snoring either. This was an offensive cacophony of mucus, breathing, chocking and severely blocked nasal passages. It was like nothing I had ever heard in my life. His whole being seemed to shudder and shake with each breath. It was as if there was a gelatinous creature inside him that was trying desperately to break free through the guy’s face.

And all of this was happening right behind me.

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip my ears from my head and live the rest of my life being made fun of for having both the same name and affliction as a famously depressed artist.

Vomiting, screaming and mutilation are not allowed on CTA trains, however. So I merely took a deep breath that passed noiselessly through my system. I then went over my options.

1. I could move.
2. I could put on my iPod and drown out the sound of sleeping death.
3. I could turn around and punch the man in the throat.
4. I could shoot him.

Sadly, I do not carry a gun. And I am also not prone to hand-to-hand combat. Options three and four were out. I wanted to move, but there was nowhere to go. I was sort of trapped. Farewell, option one. That just left my iPod.

I reached into my bag and fished around for that which would save me from having to commit murder. It was not where it should have been, however. I checked another pocket. Nothing. My iPod was not there. It was at home. It was in a safe place where no one was snoring.

I wanted to cry.

Instead of crying, I sat there and I listened to that man give birth to a mucus baby through his nose. And it killed a little part of me that I will never get back.

May that piece of my sanity rest forever in snore-less peace.