The overwhelming noise

Nov 06, 2019 Editorial

The sounds are overwhelming. It could be over anything that pleases, such as a casual blast or a young lady or something considered an obstacle in the way. On a more serious note, those now impatient sounds could be a warning loaded with the endangering.
This is where vehicle horns are converted into playthings. Where people in the vicinity are ground into nervous wrecks. The main venue for these driver antics is the major East Bank roadway, and a long section of it. The chief culprits are truck drivers.
They can’t be missed nor can they be ignored. They can be heard in powerful, piercing blasts that are like all-year firecrackers at high volume, and at all hours, too. It is thrilling to the ignorant, who are responsible, the massive mobs in motors and wheels. It is revealing as to how stunted is the arm of the law that either flashes by casually in its own racing machines or is off fighting its own demons.
When the cat is away, the mice will play. They will play havoc with the helpless residents stranded along the East Bank corridor. That’s a start. They do, the courts too, though they are largely spared by the detour of the ‘backroad.’ Lodge and Sheriff Street have the saving grace of not being perched on top of the road, like East Bank villagers from Grove to McDoom. There is some degree of care and restraint exercised by truckers in other areas.
But from the roundabout, heading in either direction, the bets are off, and the gas pedal is down to the floor. So, too, are those shrieking, ear-splitting horns. Long blasts. Repeated blasts. The reckless having a good time at the expense of all those, who are near. Better take evasive action. Why take chances –seek the quick cover of safety.
Not so for those trapped East Bank people, who bear the brunt and feel the pangs of yet another barbarity. Who are these lunatics? Where are the uniformed condoners that allow them this right of uninhibited movement?
They cannot be so blind or so deaf that they don’t see or hear until it is time to pick up the pieces and measure meaningless lines on what are really full-fledged crime scenes.
But this unmusical form of noise pollution, so prevalent along that highly populated stretch of the East Bank carriageway (sans ancient animal drawn contraptions), is not the only pollution mess and a mess it is, truth be told, for the forlorn folks in the space from Grove to McDoom.
In addition to the noise, there are the particles from the sand trucks and the many haulers of road construction and other building material. There is sand, an unending storm it can be. There is cement, and though on a lesser scale, it could be a stickier, more destructive plague to curtains and furniture, to clarity of existence and dealing with its powdery presence. And to lips and lungs and less visible parts of body and home from the regular deluges that visit.
Those with a view of the vehicular flow-meaning right above the edge of the road-are the unluckiest and pay the heaviest price. They have to be engaged in constant dusting and mopping and all out washing. If not, the buildup can be alarming, as well as embarrassing; not wholesome for interior cleanliness.
Not contributory to solid respiratory health; not helpful to a positive mental outlook; not opening to sharing with friends and family. Too much dirt, grime, and disgust.
Separately, but in the same vein, few say anything about what happens near to hospitals. Why care about them? Who is there, besides family members, who actually care about patients’ wellbeing? Most find no need to be concerned about their reactions, since the patients are busy wrestling with other bodily agonies.
It is grin and bear. The music. The roars of acceleration. The horns. Always the loud horns seeking to hurry others along. The pained and disturbed long for the relief of tranquilisers; the best one, sleep, is deprived.
Why can’t even this be fixed?