I truly believe that most of us are a single traumatic life event from turning certifiably crazy. Had one of my parents died unexpectedly, or were I robbed at gunpoint in high school near the Berthold Ave. KFC, or had I woke up alongside Honey Boo Boo’s mother one morning with a killer hangover, something could have triggered the neuroses that lurks just beneath my consciousness.
I know it’s there, because it presents itself from time to time. For example, and some blame this on being a police officer but it’s not, I’ve always done it; I have to sit in a certain seat when dining out. It’s not that I must have my line of sight towards the door or the crowd. The right chair is just a feeling and it’s totally random. Fortunately, my wife and work wife are both understanding of this little quirk.
While dining, it would be unacceptable to sit where I can hear somebody chomping their food. If you’re a person who eats with their mouth open, you’re a disgusting fucking mouth breathing dickhole and I hate you. People who eat like that are the same sorts of people who beat their spouses and kids and kick puppies and should all be killed.
When I eat, I ALWAYS eat all of one thing first before I move onto another. Generally, it’s what I like least followed by whatever I like the next least to my favorite thing on the plate, which I save for last. So were I looking at a steak with baked potato and green beans for lunch, the green beans would all get eaten first, followed by the entire potato and finally the steak. My daughter has taken to eating like this and it makes Carissa nuts. I call it delaying gratification, but she just thinks it’s insanity.
Another quirk I have with people, and my wife is an offender, is when they set the radio stations in their car in any manner other than sequentially from lowest numerical radio dial to highest. In other words, my presets on the first set are 92.3, 93.7, 96.3, 98.1, 102.5 and 106.5. See there, from lowest to highest is the way to go. My wife has hers set in some manner that she insists makes sense to her, but drives me absolutely batshit crazy. I can never find the station I’m looking for without fumbling around all her dials. It’s like trying to unclasp a back clasping bra as a high school lad…awkward and ultimately ends with Carissa doing it for me. I’m fairly certain she knows it makes me nuts and keeps it like that in order to get back at me for getting first dibs on where to sit at restaurants and eating my food in a predetermined order.
There are many others, from having to sleep on the left side of the bed to having to eat dinner with a certain style of fork. The point is, were it not for the fact that I’ve lived a pretty charmed life, it’s entirely possible that I’d be in an asylum someplace strapped in a straight jacket and subject to watching other crazy people eating food in an incorrect order with their mouths open while they randomly surf channels on the tv nonsequentially! Oh the humanity!