I twitched, finding it increasingly difficult to keep my face neutral as the woman nearby continued to slam her silverware against her plate like she was auditioning for the position of drummer in a band. My fingers whitened on my pen as I tried, and failed, to focus on the paper in front of me that needed to be turned in by the end of the day. I'd figured that sitting in the breakroom at work after my shift ended wouldn't have been an issue. It remained empty most of the day after all, but then the woman had to come in. A newbie I'd never seen before. She'd proceeded to move about the kitchen like a stampeding herd of elephants, making the room echo with bangs and thuds and clinking glass. My eye twitched again as the woman clinked her fork against the side of the bowl, scrapping the inside edge for every last grain of rice she'd been chowing down on. I could do this. I could tolerate this noise assaulting my senses I just--I shoved the chair away from the table, and stood, grabbing my paperwork. I could do this at home. There at least I knew I could find quiet.
-Inspiration from being noise sensitive today.
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