Can You Please Die for Me?

Hate is such a strong word, and to be totally honest, you would be hard pressed to ever hear me just give in and say that I hate someone, but with that being said, I have no problem admitting that there is a group of human behavior's that I do hate, and hate with a passion.  The only problem here is that I'm not talking about your basic "bad" human behaviors like "I hate bullying," or "I hate cheating."  Those are terrible behaviors, and they definitely fall into my dislike category, but what I hate isn't necessarily good or bad; it's more trivial than anything.  These despised actions of the human condition don't hold any sway on world peace or any peace for that matter.  They in fact only affect one person; it's me that they disturb, me and only me. So yes, as I meander through this explanation, like cream rising to the top, my selfish self is going to spring out like a jack-in-the-box.  Right in your face.  More than likely after this little confession session, you're opinions of me as a person will be forever skewed.  So here goes...   

I hate the sound of someone chewing food. Yes, that's right, chewing food, not gum or candy but food.  Yes, I hate something that every human does on a daily basis, and something that every human has to do to live I might add. The grinding of molars upon bits of feed, the crunching of starchy morsels, the wishy-washy sound of saliva moistening the food as it's passed back and forth in the mouth by the strange and muscular tongue; it drives me crazy.  The gulping sound of a long anticipated swallow, the low "um, um" that accompanies each gnash of the teeth in a rhythmic cadence as the jaw completes its cycle of the chomping chew, that is what I hate.  I can deal with my own mammal chewing tendencies, my own cud chomping doesn't present a problem at all, but you put someone beside me in any eating environment chomping through a meal, and you better have some ambient sound, or it's going to get ugly.  I'm not talking about ugly in the sense that I might lash out and judo chop you across your pie hole, but if I have to hear unabated chewing for too long, I'm likely to vomit up a comment like Lardass' blueberry explosion in Stand by Me.  It wouldn't be a mean comment either, and in fact, the chewer wouldn't have a clue what I was even talking about, but by saying some inside-jokeish snide remark, like a pressure valve, I am able to release the build-up of inner tension and thus safe face.

This exact scenario took place just last week. This is no lie; I had a guy in one of my classes come in with an entire fried chicken dinner.  We're talking roll, cole slaw, beans, mashed potatoes, the whole works.  It was all neatly packaged in that squeaking styrofoam to-go box.  I knew this was going to get bad quick.  So class starts, and as the seats in the class were slowly filling up, in comes lunch-boy.  Disheveled in appearance and only minutes from rolling out of bed (it's noon by the way).  I watch him as he slowly scans the room.  First he looks to the left, no seats, and then he looks to the right, no (I grumbled in that slow-motion growl).  His eyes connect with the seat right next to me.  Peering over his chicken dinner he makes his way to the boundaries of my bubble.  Here we go, giddy-up.  He sits right next to me and commences his pre-meal prep.  You would have thought this guy was sitting down to dinner at some five-star restaurant.  He spreads out his napkin placing his plastic scarf tools parallel to one another like a surgeon preparing to extract some internal organ.  Then he takes the first bite.  His heavy breathing and the whistling of nasal air being pulled quickly though his snout makes me wonder when was the last time this guy ate.  Due to the sheer mass of chicken meat that he had stuffed into his gullet, I know the whistling of air over nose hair and clogged sinuses would be lasting through the entire meal.  Eating and chewing and swallowing and the squeaking of that dang styrofoam box went on and on.  Between his heavy breathing, the crunching of deep fried chicken skin, and that styrofoam box, I just about had a fit.  I'm over here twitching like a junky in rehab, and I'm trying not to be noticed, but I know people are starting to stare at me.  By now I've given him several unapproving glances at no avail.  Luckily, he finished his scarf session before I blew a gasket, but I was seriously about to boil over.  I thought to myself, "You just about made a complete fool of yourself," and as I was both comforting and giving myself the proverbial pat not he back for my great self control, I glanced back and my chicken eating classmate launched the death blow.  There was a piece of cabbage from his cole slaw, and it was hanging from his scraggly beard like a Christmas ornament.   Watching that remnant of vegetation sway back and forth as his tongue made laps around his mouth cleaning the remains of his feast, I sat in amazement. It was taunting me.  Seriously, how do you not know you have a giant piece of cabbage hanging from your beard?   Can you not feel it pulling down on the skin of your face?!  Please wipe it off!  He never did.  

Look, I truly do feel guilty for hating these basic human behaviors, and I feel even more guilty after telling this story.  Just think of what I am asking, "Please stop nourishing your body so you can live; stop eating so I can be comfortable."  It's ridiculous I know, and I couldn't even tell you why I hate it so much, but I do.  Look, I'm in no way making a defense for what I have just told you.  It's wrong any way you look at it, and the strangest part about this whole peeve of mine is that I am the worst chewer of all.  Being so versed in chewing, I know that I fit right into the category of behavior that I hate so much; I am a loud, saliva ridden chewer of the highest order.  It doesn't matter what I'm eating, it always sounds like I've got a mouth full of Captain Crunch.  I'm like a horse eating oats.  Maybe my hatred for chewing is a function of my own chewing; maybe I hate the way I chew, and I project that hatred onto others.  Who knows?