In order to illustrate this story, I’d like to admit my weakness for vinyl records: not only do they sound great, with that complex sonority full of texture, shape and imperfection, but the simple act of listening to vinyls is itself a sort of ritual that bring you back to old times. Having clarified this point is crucial for the story coming, in order to understand my strange and freak behavior.
The story took place in a Friday afternoon, in my way home after work. The previous day I had received a box full of vinyl records that I had bought in Amazon, which I hadn’t even had time to listen to. Thus, you can imagine how excited I was, looking forward to getting home and, with a cold beer, playing my record player without a break. In this state of eccentric melomania, just when I was arriving home, I got a phone call from my boss, asking me for a “big favor”: I had to pick some relatives of him up from the airport, take them to the hotel and finally, take them to dinner at a restaurant, where my boss would join us. So stupid I am, that I accepted without reservations.
After the whole evening suffering uncle George and aunt Margaret telling supposedly funny anecdotes about my boss when he was a child, and having overcome the temptation to commit suicide several times, I finally got home at midnight. While climbing the stairs, I was trying to convince me that the day hadn’t been so bad, since I was about to spend hours listening to my new records. However, hardly did I opened the door and tried to switch on the light, I realized how difficult listening to my new vinyls was going to be: there seemed to be a power cut, affecting the whole neighborhood.
This would have been the end of the day for a rational person, who simply would have gone to bed and put the records off until the following day. However, as I said before I’m quite a freak in relation with music, and furthermore, I just thought that, after such a depressing day, I deserved a satisfaction. Thus, I determined to take my record player and the box with the new vinyls, and carry them to my parents’ house, where I could listen to them comfortable and peacefully. And so I did. It took me half an hour cycling to the other site of the town, with a huge cardboard box grabbed with one hand, and trying to ride with the other. But it was worth the trouble: I finally found myself sitting on the couch of the living room, in the dark, with my earphones on, listening to my new vinyls. Of course, you’ll wonder how my parents reacted to my strange visit so late at night: they know me very well and are used to this kind of eccentricities.