I watched my coworker eat a salad today like he was auditioning for a nature documentary about territorial disputes. Every bite was a wet percussion solo—leaf, crunch, *schlorp*—performed directly into the open-plan office. I realized he wasn't eating; he was giving the rest of us a live masterclass in what his molars were up to. By the time he finished, I'd developed a profound appreciation for headphones and a concerning knowledge of his dental work.