The dishwasher in the breakroom is running right now, and it's making a noise of a volume and rhythm that I haven't heard since college. Two dishes are in it (because our ops manager constantly uses the breakroom oven to make her sloshy lasagna, and someone's birthday was yesterday, so there are forks and plates in there), and these dishes are clanking together, in a RRR-CLANK-RRR-CLANK-RRR-CLANK-RRR-CLANK rhythmic sound.
It can best be described as what it would likely sound like if two people were having sex for half an hour on top of an airplane drink cart.
The reason it took me back to college was because all of the bedrooms in the fraternity house in which I lived had metal bunk beds (which we called "racks,") and it was very obvious when two people were engaging in marathon-style sex (usually because both were too drunk to be able to finish the drill), because you'd hear the creaking of metal on metal as the top bunk swayed from the motion.
The rooms were also a cinder-block design, and if the bed was close enough to the wall, not only would the bed sway and creak, but it would also clang into the wall, thus making a RRR-CLANK-RRR-CLANK sound. This was even more likely to happen if the couple doing the nasty was on the top bunk, causing it to sway even more. This was the soundtrack to my sophomore year, as the guy living in the next room over would bring his girlfriend to the house, close the door, and the sounds of .38 Special would waft through the walls, followed by RRR-CLANK-RRR-CLANK. Why he always picked .38 Special as his sex music, I'll never know. He never listened to it any other time, so when we heard it, we knew that Scott was gettin' some.
So that was my morning, an odd sound taking me back to my college days of hearing people having sex.