The Drone of Madness

A short story about a madman and his fridge

Photo by Old Youth on Unsplash

The flame of the lighter momentarily illuminates Paul’s room as he begins lighting the scented candles that sit around his $10 Buddha statue. Paul is preparing his room for what has recently become his Sunday afternoon meditation time. Paul has never been the meditating type. But over the last few years, one too many people have told him that he thinks too much. His friends have said that he goes over every little detail with a fine-tooth comb. That he overanalyses. Meticulously scrutinizes. Incessantly investigates. And feverishly questions anything and everything to the point of madness. And apparently, it’s annoying.

In response to his friend’s feedback, Paul thought he would try meditating. Although Paul is the first to question whether what he does when he’s sitting there quietly is actually meditating; “how would anyone ever really know for sure?” he wonders. Either way he likes to assume that it is. And he likes to say that he meditates. Beyond making him sound cool, he also believes it will help him reassure his friends that he is working on quietening his ever-curious mind. But there’s just one problem: Paul has an old fridge…

Paul’s fridge is at the age where it oscillates between sporadic cycles of silence and then suddenly – whenever the motor starts up – the thing roars. And it’s not just loud, its also monotonous. When Paul’s fridge gets going it drones on with the same mind-numbing intensity as an unwelcome jackhammer on a Saturday morning. In fact, the reverberations of this wicked-white-good can be so unbearable that when it finally stops everyone within earshot breathes a sigh of relief. Obviously, anyone in their right mind would simply get rid of this ear-splitting cold box. But not Paul…

Paul’s fucking nuts.

Paul’s friends have even commented on his vociferous fridge and asked him why he doesn’t replace it. And beyond the fact that Paul’s, let’s call it, ‘careful-with-his-finances’, he’s been living with this fridge for so long now that, for the most part, he’s learnt to ignore its ungodly racquet. However, during Paul’s weekly meditation sessions this often proves more difficult.

And so, to get a better sense of how the sound of Paul’s fridge disturbs him, let’s take a journey into the mind of this nutcase and listen to Paul’s madness for ourselves.

Okay, forget about your thoughts.

Focus on your breath.

Six seconds in, six seconds out.

EEEEEHHHHHRRRRR! – Paul’s fridge start’s up.

Damn it, stupid fucking fridge. Why does it have to start now?

Alright, forget about it, it’s just sound.

Focus on your breath.

Paul counts six seconds in, and six seconds out – as his fridge drones on in the background.   

What is sound anyway? It’s vibrations. So how can I be annoyed by sound when it is just vibrations? Aren’t I vibrations as well? Don’t the scientists say we’re all just a collection of atoms vibrating together like some sort of atomic school of fish? And doesn’t that mean that the vibrations in my head are annoyed by the vibrations in my kitchen? How can a set of vibrations even be annoyed? Or better yet, how the fuck does a set of vibrations have thoughts? Damn it! Alright, fuck, you’re thinking too much, go back to your breath, focus on that.

Paul counts six seconds in, and six seconds out – as his fridge continues to drone on.    

I know it’s just vibrations, but fuck I wish it would shut up. I wonder where my resistance to this noise comes from? The noise of the fridge doesn’t bother me at any other time of the day, but when I start meditating it does. Is it because I think that when I meditate it should be silent? Why do I think that? The world isn’t silent, my thoughts aren’t silent…

The drone of Paul’s fridge seems to rise another octave.

… and my fucking fridge sure isn’t silent. So why do I torture myself by expecting all the sound to stop just because I’ve decided to try do this thing that is supposedly going to help me quieten my thoughts? Damn it! Alright, shut up, you’re still thinking too much, focus on your breath.    

Paul counts six seconds in, and six seconds out – as his fridge continues to drone on.   

I know I shouldn’t expect the world to be silent just for my meditation time, but fuck I wish I could just silence this damn fridge. Maybe I should unplug it? But last night’s leftovers are in there. Damn it!

Suddenly, the drone of Paul’s fridge stops.

Thank fuck for that. Alright, now, let’s meditate, no more thinking about crap, stay connected to your breath.   

Paul counts six seconds in, and six seconds out, and maintains focus on his breath for at least two full breath cycles. And then, of course, the maniac starts up again – and I’m not talking about the fridge…

I wonder if there’s another reason the noise of the fridge bothers me? I don’t think it’s just because I want silence, because I like other noises. I like the sound of music and that’s loud and goes on and on. So, what’s the difference? Why does that particular sound bother me, and yet other sounds don’t? I like the way music makes me feel. So, why don’t I like the way the fridge noise makes me feel? I can control the music. But I can’t do that with the fridge. I can’t control it. I can’t stop it from making noise when I don’t want it too – unless I ruin my leftovers. Well actually, that’s not true, because it is completely within my control to buy a new fridge, which would put an end to that damn noise. But I’m too cheap for that.

Wow! Wait a sec…

Does that mean the reason the noise of the fridge bothers me so much is because it is a symbolic reminder of my cheapness? Maybe that unrelenting drone is acting like some sort of mirror that is forcing me to acknowledge my cheapness. And because I don’t want to be angry at myself for not replacing the fridge, I get annoyed at the fridge, instead of the person who is too cheap to get rid of it. So, in some fucked up way, when I get bothered by the noise of the fridge what I’m really bothered by is myself.

Fuck that’s confronting…

Or maybe that’s not it, maybe everyone’s right and I do just think about things too much. Damn it! Alright, forget about it, just go back to your breath.

Paul starts to count six seconds in, and six seconds out, but hardly stays with his breath for one full breath cycle, before he gets back into it.

But hang on, if that’s the case, then that only raises more questions. Why don’t I treat myself good enough to buy a new fridge? Why do I torture myself with this noise? Does it mean that I use the noise of the fridge against myself as some sort of unconscious micro aggression? Or maybe it goes the other way. Maybe I keep the fridge because unconsciously I think the drone of the fridge helps me drowned out the drone of my mind. Maybe I actually love the noise of the fridge, and it’s not that I’m bothered by the fridge starting up; it’s that I’m bothered when it stops and leaves me alone with these unrelenting questions?

But wait a sec…

If I’m thinking all these questions, then who am I asking? Better yet, who the fuck is listening?

For a brief but blissful moment, as if he had just understood some Buddhist Kohan, Paul’s mind is quiet.   

EEEEEHHHHHRRRRR! – And then, as if perfectly on cue, Paul’s fridge starts up again.

Damn it! Stupid fucking fridge!