For me, it is the whirr of a fucking electric fan. From air conditioners to forced air furnaces, from car heaters to oscillating table fans, whatever, it drives me up the wall.

The sound of my father eating could send me to hell. I might even drive there directly rather than live through it for any length of time. The sound of certain women eating, when they are too precious about it, is also a source of painful irritation. The sound of people rubbing their fingers on cheap napkins—i have to stop now, I can’t talk about it anymore.