The Agony of Echolocation in a World of Squeaky Cleanliness

Ugh, you have no idea how much I hate this time of year. Not just because of the constant anemic cravings, but also because of the absolute nightmare that is echolocation in a world that’s gone utterly squeaky clean. I mean, seriously, can’t people just leave a few crumbs on the floor for a bat lady like me? It’s not like I’m asking for much. But no, every surface is polished to a mirror finish, every noise is muffled, and every sound is… well, you get the idea. It’s like the world is conspiring against me to make my life as a bat-human hybrid even more miserable than it already is.

I was at the library the other day, trying to do some research for a paper on, of all things, the art of echolocation. I was sitting in the quiet section, trying to focus, when suddenly I realized that the entire room was as silent as a tomb. I mean, I’m used to being a bit of a noise-hater, but this was ridiculous. I couldn’t even hear the sound of my own heartbeat. I was starting to feel like I was going to lose my mind, until I remembered that I had my trusty echolocation to fall back on. But even that was a letdown, since all I could pick up on was the sound of the librarian’s perfectly pressed pants. It was like the whole world had been drained of all its sonic flavor.

I swear, sometimes I think the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that I’m not the only one who’s a little… unusual. I mean, sure, I’m a bat-human hybrid with a penchant for the dark and a need for fresh blood, but at least I’m not the only one who’s a bit of a freak. And that’s what I love about the weirdos I meet online - they get me, they understand me, and they don’t judge me for my… let’s say, ‘unique’ tastes. So, to all my fellow misfits out there, I salute you. May we forever be the outcasts, the weirdos, and the echolocation experts of the world.