Chompin' like Pac-Man

Where I sit at work is dubbed "the fishbowl" as it is this smallish room with windows all around it. There are about 9 desks and 3 offices in the room. Last month, 3 Indians, fresh off the boat, moved into the fishbowl for the next couple of months. They're all nice, great guys, who speak just enough English to get by and have perfected the art of quiet talking, so I have to ask them to repeat everything they say about 10 times:

"What hotel are you staying at?"

"The Langham."

"What?"

"The Langham"

"Which one?"

"The Langham"

"Where is that?"

"Just down the street."

"Where again?"

"That way, one block."

"What is it next to?"

"PO Square."

"Which square?"

"PO!!!"

"Oh, the LANGHAM! Why didn't you just say so?"

Anyway, they're dashed nice people and all, but every morning the dude to my right eats what has to be the crunchiest apple of all time, possibly made of iron. I can't overestimate the amount of chomping that goes on, for what seems to be 45 solid minutes. This is what it sounds like:

CRRRUUUUUNNNNCHHHH!!!!!

sluuuurrppp

(smack)

Chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp

(smack)

Chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp

(smack. lick. slurp.)

CRRRUUUUNNNCHHHH!!!

And so on. It's usually not an incredible deal because I can put my headphones on, but still.

Last week, at one of Mel's appointments, we were in the waiting room. Now, Mel's hospital (and work) is smack dab in the middle of Chinatown, so there is no lack of Chinese and other miscellaneous riff-raff on some government subsidized health care plan. This Chinese couple sat across from us, and the dude had a piece of gum that he refused to chew with his mouth closed. We sat there and tried to read some "Family Fun"-type magazine together, but neither of us could focus on the book with Mr. Chomper McChompathon chomping across the way from us. Then Mel proceeded to tell me of various accounts of people in Chinatown hawking loogies and doing farmer blows just out on the sidewalk. I'm sorry for grossing you all out, it's awful.

It reminds me of the time I was in Nepal, where I couldn't walk 5 seconds without either stepping on a loog or hearing one being hawked. Here is an excerpt from my travelogue:

"The national pastime in Nepal seems to be hawking logeys. It's quite thoroughly disgusting. Walking down the street, you'll hear Nepalis of all ages and genders clearing their throats, hawking up something juicy, and spitting in a conspicuous spot, to be later seen or stepped upon by me, both experiences causing me no great joy."

And then, from the same travelogue, when I was in Tibet, sharing a bus with about 15 other tourists:

"Many people call Americans and Westerners barbarians, but I strongly object to that. For example, take the infamous nose wad story. The Mongol opposite me asked me for a few squares of my toilet paper while I was clearing the nostrils. I had squares to spare. So I ripped her off a chunk. She rolled it up like a cigarette and shoved in both nostrils like the nose-ring of a yak. Fitting, I suppose."

"I didn't find that particularly barbaric. A little odd, perhaps, but not uncouth. But an hour later Ms. Kahn decided she'd had enough of the nose-ring, plucked it out, and tossed it to the floor in disgust as if she had barely noticed it was there and flung it off as if it would explode in seconds. The thing landed right in front of me, no more than 2 inches from my left foot. Well, there was no way I was going to stare at that thing until Lhasa, so I kicked it under the next seat like it was a hot rock. I shuddered and shot the Mongol the stinkeye. In vain, however, as she was too busy applying her next nose ring. This time using her own toilet paper."

I try not to be "foreignist", but it's very hard to deal with some of these obnoxious and disgusting habits that may not be frowned upon in their country. Of course, Americans have their obnoxious habits, but it seems a lot more prevalent among foreigners. So, no, I'm not apologizing for this post.