Podcast vs. reality

I hardly ever listen to the radio anymore. I probably could count on one hand the occasions when I heard a full song off the radio in the last year. Outside of NPR in the morning, the radio has pretty much become an iPod accessory. Road trip audio is Pod audio. If we were invaded by Visigoths during a road trip, I wouldn't find about it until the trip was over.

I've found that the Pod is kind of like cruise control. You get a good podcast going and you don't want to stop. I've driven to lunch hour errands without ever taking out the ear buds.

The iPod also provides immunity to worldly delays. There's a five minute delay for a table? K. More time to listen to Bill Moyers or Wait, Wait…

When I need realworld sound, it's just easier to tap off the audio and leave the ear buds in.

This is a bit strange, because people will assume you can't hear them when the iPod is off. Or they'll talk to you when you're way into something on the Pod.

This can annoy both parties to the conversation rapidly.

This local sandwich shop I go to pretty much maximizes this phenomenon.

It's usually busy, and even if it isn't - their sandwiches usually take awhile to make.

Knowing the drill, I'll be well into my podcast by the time I get to place my order. Today, I'm listing to D-Day veterans recount stories of wartime terror and loss.

It's pretty gripping stuff. This one veteran's family is relating the story of how they found out their dad was a Medal of Honor winner - thirty years after he won it. The man's daughter was clearly deeply affected as she said how her dad "never talked about it. It just wasn't important to him. His family was what mattered to him."

Deep stuff.

How you doin' today?

I look up, and teen-behind-the-counter is asking me how I'm doing. Not because they are interested, but because this chain's marketing types have decided that the best way to deal with the delay in preparing my food is mindless banter.

Got big plans for the weekend?

Back in the Pod, another vet is describing the horror of a mortar fragment slicing into his foot and how the injury kept him from learning that his best friend had been killed.

I stop the pod, and say, "Fine, no big plans." Basically do my best to vibe this guy that - I'm just here for the sandwich, we don't need to be friends. Pod back on.

This does not take, and next he is describing an "outfit" he's considering wearing, and he would like my opinion.

The vet is describing arguing with the medics about how they shouldn't cut his foot off.

It's a black tuxedo jacket, with a black shirt and a bright yellow tie, and…

Back in the pod, sutures rupture repeatedly, and the medic is angrily telling the vet that he will have a massive scar.

I say something offhand and mentally command this person to Go. The Hell. Away.

How you doin’ today?

Teen-boy is on to the next person in line, who is about as happy with the banter as I am.

The shop also has some earnest youngster performing live music at an intrusive volume.

I dial up the volume and sit somewhere far enough away to lose realworld audio.

I watch the youngster, head bowed, climbing their way up their guitar, eyes closed. The summit reached, their head snaps up, mouth to the mike and-

- Somewhere in the Pod, the vet gets to keep their foot.