Wednesday, November 25, 2009

The Voice in My Pocket

Monday night I had about an hour between my flight and our monthly Aero Club safety meeting, so I decided I had enough time to go to City BBQ and get a pulled pork sandwich. I've never been a real BBQ fan until a friend took me there a couple months ago. As you walk in, the entire place smells like smoke and meat. I had been getting the chicken, but it hasn't been as smokey-tasting lately as I remember in the past, so I started getting the pulled pork.

None of this has anything to do with the point of my post. On my way back to our meeting, I had the radio on WHIO. I don't actually listen to any radio stations that play music, since I can pick my own playlists by having CDs in my car. Yes, I still listen to CDs, even though I have an iPod. 99% of my music listening is either CDs in the car or mp3s on computer speakers. On the flip side, 90% of my iPod use is listening to podcasts. Since it was about 10 after 6, Clark Howard was on the radio and I was about 2 blocks away from the meeting when I realized I could hear another voice faintly coming through underneath and between the one on my car speakers. At first I thought WHIO was letting another show sneak through on the airwaves, so I turned up the volume knob trying to hear this mystery voice, but of course that only made Clark Howard louder. So I tried to turning it all the way down to see if it would go away. No luck, it must not be coming from the radio at all. I checked the cell phone laying in the passenger's seat, but it was dark, and the keypad was locked. I was starting to worry and feeling a bit like Truman Burbank, and getting a little distracted from my driving.

Did somebody plant something in my car? Were my dental fillings picking up secret Air Force transmissions? Wait, I've got my iPod in my inner jacket pocket with the ear buds still plugged in. I guess the slider lock must have gotten turned off. Peter Kreeft was giving a lecture on C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity. How long had it been playing? Just about 10 minutes, apparently, so about the time I got in the car at City BBQ, somehow pressed just right by the seatbelt. A rather anticlimactic explanation, but thankfully innocuous.