The Stereo

Fort Sumter, Archiduke Ferdinand and Pearl Harbor are all phrases synonymous with the opening of unbelievably violent and horrific conflicts. Sadly, they may soon be joined by "NO DISC."

Thus read a local man's car stereo when he attempted to play a compact disc featuring Robert Johnson, the father of the blues, and Old Crow Medicine Show, an old-time string band.

The man, only identified as Doug, returned to his car this afternoon after having lent it to a friend for nearly a week. Shortly thereafter relations between Doug and the car's stereo quickly took an ugly turn.

Upon entering the car Doug inserted the CD. Instead of showing it's usual "TRACK 1" on its display the defiant stereo simply read, "NO DISC." Visibly annoyed Doug pulled out of the parking lot hoping that the problem would work itself out. It did not.

Compounding the problem was the fact that Doug's car is black with a black leather interior, devoid of any semblance of air conditioning and the sunroof was broken by Doug's idiot brother.

Doug acknowledged that the heat played a significant factor in what will surely go down as a day of infamy. "Yeah, the heat was a bitch. I knew it would be but I guess I just wasn't ready for it. When I opened that door I got a rush of pure heat, directly from the bowels of hell. My mood turned."

After about 60 seconds in the car Doug began to become concerned with his car's stereo. "What the fuck," he muttered to himself. Figuring the problem would fix itself, he drove on.

Having driven for several minutes in the sweltering car Doug began to perspire, at first just a little on the brow and collar but shortly thereafter this typically jovial 22-year-old would become a raging inferno of hate, drenched in sweat.

At nearly the precise moment that Doug crossed the intersection of Hillside St. and Randolph Ave. he realized that the stereo would not fix itself. Wagon Wheel would not pour out of the car's speakers to quiet the anger building inside him.

"What the fuck is going on here?" the driver exclaimed as he ejected, and promptly reinserted, the CD. The stereo's display stared at him, "NO DISC."

"I know there is a goddamn disc in there, you piece of shit!" yelled Doug. Thinking that perhaps the volume was all the way down he turned the knob clockwise. The ill-fated knob had succumbed to the heat hours ago and was nothing more than glob of melted rubber. Instead of raising the stereo's volume Doug had instead succeeded in getting rubber all over his hands.

"That was definitely a low-point. No question. I wanted to turn the stereo up but instead my hand looked like I sneezed on it but if the snot was black... and smelled like cancer," Doug recalled when asked about the Melting of the Knob.

Having seemingly failed to turn the volume up Doug switched the stereo to FM. Sure enough WPLR was blaring the Alabama Song by the Doors. So it wasn't the volume. When switched back to CD mode, the stereo still read, "NO DISC."

Doug's patience was completely gone at the point. His hair and shirt drenched in sweat and his right hand caked in molten rubber. Doug snapped. (WARNING: Explicit language to follow)

"WHAT IN THE FUCK, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF GODDAMNED SHIT STEREO! YOU HAVE ONE FUCKING JOB ON THIS WHOLE DAMNED PLANET AND THAT IS TO PLAY ME MY FUCKING CD! I DON'T CARE HOW YOU DO IT BUT YOU BETTER FUCKING PLAY THIS CD OR IT'S OVER!" Doug bellowed at his car.

"NO DISC," the stereo mocked him.

"THIS FUCKING THING...SUCKS. FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! YOU GODDAMNED SONOFABITCH!!!" This round of expletives was punctuated by Doug's angry display of the middle finger to his stereo.

"NO DISC," the stereo read, calmer and crueler than ever.

"FUCK YOU! YOU HAVE ONE FUCKING JOOOOOOOB!!!!!!!!!" The crescendo built to awe-inspiring levels, passing motorists on the road stared with a strange combination of amazement and horror at this sweat-soaked man hurling obscenities at a seemingly innocuous piece of machinery.

"GWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA........" This was no longer English spewing forth from Doug but rather a primal, guttural sound that continued for nearly half a minute, growing louder. This time, not just content to abuse his stereo verbally, Doug removed his hand from shift lever and brought it forward, violently. The ensuing collision would change everything, forever.

His hand throbbing and with a deranged grin across his face Doug, brought his hand back from what he surely thought would be a decimated car stereo, eager to see the end of his nemesis.

Quoth the stereo, "NO DISC." It was completely intact.

"This isn't fucking over you snot-nosed, arrogant piece of crap," Doug said with relative calm. Still, he was jabbing his finger into the tape deck to drive his point home.

Still minutes from his destination, Doug turned the stereo off and decided to actually pay attention to driving, and not sweating.

"This isn't over between me and that fucking stereo. I've gone through all the proper channels and completed all the appropriate paperwork, crossed every T and dotted all the lower-case J's. It's war and I'm going to bring the motherfucking pain," said Doug with a unsettling amount of composure.

Considering Doug must commute home in less than 90 minutes the stereo's time may be running short or, perhaps, its time is just beginning...