When I was a kid, there was a store in the mall that sold organs.
And whenever you walked by it, there was this cheesy guy in a tuxedo playing one of the organs.
Since his goal was to sell you the organ, he made sure to use every pre-set beat the organ provided: disco, mambo, swing, etc.
The result was a cacophonous assault on anyone dumb enough to keep walking by the organ store, many of whom heaped their subtle scorn on organ man in the form of laughter.
When the organ store went out of business, everyone was happy.
Little did I know that thirty years later, the horrible sound that organ man used to make would stage a revival. And it has a new name.
It’s called a ringtone.
You know the tone. Every idiot you’ve ever seen in Starbucks with a cell volume set at “max” uses it.
It’s that upbeat bossa nova swing hip hop clangy thing that makes you want to pull your ears off.
And it’s always at the loudest volume possible, for it appears that the same “asshole” threshold you must pass to choose that ringtone also mandates that you alert everyone in Starbucks to your incoming call.
It is the revenge of organ man.
We never should have laughed at him.