Liverpool Noise pollution comes in all forms. Here in the village, we endure the shrieking of train whistles where the railroad crosses Old Liverpool Road. Our ears have become inured to the rumble of semi-trucks on our roads and the roar of jet planes overhead.
The howling of Harley-Davidsons and the shrill sirens of emergency vehicles — one a sound of engine pleasure, one a sound of personal pain — both turn our idyllic village into a cauldron of cacophony.
Yes, thundering vehicles can be vexing, but the noise that really annoys me now is the one emanating from all the squeaky doors.
Tulip Street squeal
Last week, I swung by Café at 407 for a cup of Colombian, but as I flung open the front door, I was greeted as usual with a grating squeal. Tulip Street was suddenly filled with the high-pitched sound of grinding hinges.
At lunchtime, I ambled over to Nichols’ Supermarket on First Street to order a hot pastrami from my friends at the deli counter. First I had to pass through the front entrance where the outer door wails like a banshee. Thankfully, the exit doors allow you to pass back into the parking lot in sweet silence.
I wandered over to Emerald Cleaners around the corner at 309 Vine St. to pick up my heavily starched white-striped shirt and — sure enough — the door bleated aloud like a trumpeter calling racehorses to post. Unlike Nichols, which separates its entrance and exit doors, at Emerald I had to hear the hinges’ discordant horn again on my way out.
White water caterwaul
Later that night, I stepped out for a couple cocktails at the new White Water Pub on South Willow Street. I’m learning to make my entrance through the patio and in the back door because the front door squeals like a stuck pig.