I watched my coworker eat a sandwich today like he was auditioning for a role in a nature documentary about hippos. Every chew sounded like a small argument between two pieces of bread. Halfway through, he looked genuinely confused why I'd suddenly started eating with my headphones on at full volume—not even music playing, just static. He asked if I was okay. I said, "Yeah, just trying to create a sound barrier between your mouth and my will to live."

My dentist chews with his mouth open during appointments while he's deciding which tool to use next. I've started scheduling cleanings just to hear his full, wet commentary on my molars. Last week he spent forty-five minutes on one tooth while I watched his jaw work like a cement mixer, occasionally pausing to tell me I need to floss more. I'm considering switching dentists, but honestly, where else am I going to get free ASMR that makes me want to never eat again?

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.

I watched my coworker eat a salad this morning like he was auditioning for a nature documentary about hyenas. By lunch, I'd convinced myself the crunching was a cry for help. By 2 PM, I realized the cry for help was mine. Now I eat lunch in my car with the windows up, which is great until someone parks next to me and does the same thing, and I'm trapped in a glass box with nowhere left to run.