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Once upon a time, I was an avid music lover. I spent high school and college singing with a few bands, attending every rock concert available, and blowing out the speakers of all my dad's cars. My parents yelled through my bedroom door to "turn that noise down" at least every hour for about six years. I once considered hiring a private detective to track down two hundred CDs that some jerk stole from my car. But my love of music died very recently. More specifically, in the last two and a half years, around the time I started working for my current employer. That was when I discovered that it was possible to hate a song so much that you could spend hours awake at night in an attempt to exorcize the infuriating tune and moronic lyrics from your head. The reason for my workplace torture is that one of my coworkers decided long ago that the office radio is her own personal domain. She is the only person allowed to touch the thing, regardless of the fact that she is...
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