Mr. Jack Hammer

I remember walking down the streets of New York multiple times and feel the sidewalk begin to shake, or at my desk 21 floors up and hear the building rumble and think to myself, “It would not sadden me if I never hear the pneumatic sound of a jackhammer ever again.”

Alas, not fifty yards from my desk in Hong Kong, two 40 story apartment buildings are being constructed. Outside the school, the air is constantly filled with sound waves of whining cement trucks, swirling cranes, and of course the abhorrent jackhammer.

I am sitting in the garden on the roof of my school, trying to escape the chaos of the classroom, but even my iPod cannot rescue me from the machine gun battle that rages in the construction zone across the way. Neither can the book I’m reading which is ironically describing a scientist’s efforts to control the sound of the universe and turn all of its annoyances off. Until this fiction becomes a reality though, I won’t be able to concentrate enough to even finish the chapter.

Whoever invented this beastly tool should be imprisoned for disturbing global peace. I think his sentence should be lying on a bed with a jackhammer constantly drilling next to his head, 24/7. I doubt he would survive a week before he lost his mind and was crippled with internal tremors for the rest of his quaking days.

The rattling of the jack hammer outside or the Chinese chatter in the classroom; which one should I choose?