There are few things I hate about the public in general. The most aggravating one, of course, is people being in my bubble. Sometimes it has to happen, I get it — but especially with super scary things like scabies in the world, I’m not trying to rub up on everyone that passes and I expect the same kind of respect!
We all know what it is like to share an armchair with a douchebag. That’s why I hate going to the movies these days, especially if you’re in a relatively half-empty movie theater and someone has a whoooooole plethora of seats to choose from and they think sitting next to you is the best option. I don’t know if I’m alone in this, but I make a mean mug when I see potentials lurking the spots for a place to sit (and if you’re late and the previews [or God forbid the movie] have already started, don’t even think about getting near me.)
After the issue of getting a seat finally finishes taking up a good portion of my life, they pop open the candy. What I don’t understand is with the way technology and everything is today, why the hell do they have to make candy bags so crinkly? Particularly for the people who don’t seem to have a filter in the theater and think they’re in their own living room. They’re not sure what a whisper is, they dive right into their crinkly food and I try really hard to remember my breathing exercises. Ever heard of Misophonia? It’s defined as “the hatred of sound.” Taken from a New York Times article:
For people with a condition that some scientists call misophonia, mealtime can be torture. The sounds of other people eating — chewing, chomping, slurping, gurgling — can send them into an instantaneous, blood-boiling rage.
This is yours truly.
Believe it or not, I’m getting off topic with the original meaning behind this post. Last night, I was fortunate enough to meet one wonderful Christopher Moore. If you have not ever heard of Christopher Moore, or more importantly read Christopher Moore, you can kindly stop reading this post right now and get on that.
He was speaking at the local community college last night, and obviously I’m going to jump on the chance to meet an author I respect and admire (funny enough, he’s the first author I’ve ever met. Well, who I knew beforehand.) I was very excited and very eager to see what he would be like in person, and I hoped it would be a good experience.
Insert first-mentioned scenario. People looking for a place to sit, a hundred open chairs, and where do they go? Right next to me.
Listen, I’m not saying I hate it every time someone sits next to me. I’m merely stating if you’re going to be an obnoxious muttonhead don’t bother bringing me into it. Or anyone, really. Just like you never know who’s gonna be a serial killer, you never know who’s going to suffer from Misophonia and get crazy on you.
The woman who sat next to me was nice, I’m not going to lie. She was older, which makes me feel partially bad for writing this, but being old isn’t an excuse.
Do you know sometimes when you’re lying in bed, and you’re first waking up in the morning, and somehow your arm goes above your head and your nose finds its way into your armpit and then it smells like onions and garlic and you immediately begin to cough and put on deodorant? Apparently this woman enjoys that smell.
Do you know sometimes when you eat something and then later on you burp and you question your entire life’s existence and hope for just one gleaming moment you can find some Listerine to avoid being embarrassed? I need to carry some on-hand for people like this.
Truthfully, along with Misophonia, I have a pretty intense sense of smell. I tried so hard to deal with this, but by the time she raised her hand and I caught a whiff of this onion smell and realized why cutting them makes you cry, he was already speaking and I couldn’t move.
I hate my life sometimes.
As if the smell wasn’t bad enough, she was an arm rest hog. Along with the crinkling candy, can I get an “AMEN!” when it comes to maybe adding more arm rests? Each chair should have two, no sharing. Honest to God, it’s like they want to cause a fight between people. Just let me have my space, goodness gracious.
Also, a side note because I’m tall, there needs to be more space in between rows. My knees lock whenever I go to a movie or a lecture hall or sit on a bus or a plane or anything. It’s highly uncomfortable, highly obnoxious, and I think I should make tall people awareness the next big movement after the gays win. (Because we will win.)
Not only did this woman hog the arm rest, she kept rubbing me. Seriously, her elbow kept sliding over onto my side of the chair and she kept rubbing my arm with it. Normally, when that happens, you apologize and at least make an acknowledgment of the fact you just came into physical contact with someone else. Nope. That was apparently above her to do. (Granted I do live in a town with an obnoxious amount of rich old people who only care about that $$.) He was speaking for two hours, and she rubbed me at least once every five minutes whenever she got uncomfortable and had to adjust how she was sitting.
To continue on with my Misophonia, she kept chewing on her fingernails. Goooooood how I hate it when people do that next to me. The sound of the saliva lapping up against the nail and the guttural chewing sound the back of your throat makes when you do that makes me want to stand in the center of the room and scream. So disgusting. And what do you do with your nails after you chew them off? Eat them? Or put them on the ground? Gross. Gross. Either way. Save your nail chewing for the comfort of your own home. Or at least outside. Or at least when you’re not sitting right next to someone.
If only I was done complaining about how this woman ruined Christopher Moore for me. (I’m really glad he was as funny as he was, because at least it was worth it to sit through this bitch.)
Whenever he said something funny and people laughed, she would just say, “What did he just say?”
Oh, one of those.
Real talk, whenever I watch a movie or a TV show or anything, I hate it when people ask what they just said. This is more unexplainable to me, but it comes from the distaste of repeating myself or someone else. Thank the LORD she asked her husband right next to her instead of me, because that would have been bad, but legitimately she had to ask at least once every three minutes. And then he would repeat the joke. (Ever heard of an “inside voice”? They hadn’t.) The plus side to that, I suppose, was I got to hear all of Christopher Moore’s jokes twice.
But then, after everyone was done laughing and she asked her husband what was said and he repeated it, she would just do a “TUH” sound to laugh. “TUH. TUH. TUH. TUH.” All night long. Not even a legitimate laugh. Just placing her tongue on the roof of her mouth and exhaling a gust of nasty-smelling air into the world.
Take note of the bubble, please. I don’t want to end up like Sheila from Shameless and never go outside because y’all are nasty. If you’re going to sit by someone, do it if you have no other choice, and don’t take “make yourself at home” too seriously in a public place.