Yeah, the death metal definitely isn't helping.

But that's partially because, from across the beach, Connie has been trying to yell Greg's name for, like, five minutes.

Since her voice clearly can't beat the screams of metal heads, she goes around to the other side of the van. Clambering up into the driver's seat and with one hand pressed against an ear like that will help, she fumbles with the volume until she can hit off.

"Mister Universe!"