Jake Bailey
or what an ancient warrior felt while focusing his mind’s energy for battle. All that, and what you’ve actually done is trip over the same stairs you’ve been climbing for years now.
Or in this case, you’ve walked into a restaurant with all the pleasant tenor of a steelworks.
I have sat in less noisy maimais before. This place made some of the few clubs I’ve seen inside look like libraries in comparison.
But we took our table. It quickly became all too apparent that even though the overbearing din of indistinguishable noises apparently emanating from no particular source wasn’t going to make conversing impossible, it was certainly going to make it comical, as we leant in to the middle of the table, teetered on the edge of our seats, and yelled at each other from about an inch apart.
There was no choice. I needed my voice for the next morning, so we were left communicating through facial expression and lip reading alone.
Maybe the people at tables around us sitting on their phones were actually texting each other to save their voices.
It turns out you can understand a lot from someone’s eyes, but not how their new job is going. So, I got brave and asked a waitress if we could be moved to somewhere a bit quieter. She obliged. The food was superb, and the conversation was better, and the company was the best of all. But had it not been for the small table tucked around the corner, it would have been ringing ears and a croaky voice, or a silent conversation.
Since then I’ve only noticed it more and more when I’ve been out. Shared dining spaces, particularly later at night, all offer that compilation of human sounds which I find so comforting when I’m dining alone in a strange place for work, but which once it reaches a certain tipping point of volume, becomes an irritating dissonance.
What’s worse is that in half of these places, the volume of conversation is only driven up by the volume of the “background” music blaring out across the floor. It’s like eating a packed lunch on the floor amidst a disco or orchestral rehearsal, depending on what the staff have picked to berate you with today.
I spend half the meal looking around, trying to figure out if I could really be the only one in here perturbed by the fact I can’t hold a conversation with the person beside me, because I’m apparently leaning up against the drummer’s floor tom, or the cellist’s music stand.
I’m not (usually) just there to stuff my face, I actually need to be able to hold a conversation. Maybe review apps need the ability to filter by volume as well.