The Cretin Crunch

Hog Heaven

PICTURE the scene if you will. A quiet afternoon in an office. The soft murmur of industry is everywhere. Fingertips are gently tapping their muted rhythm against computer keyboards.   Sheets of white paper sing their content as an army of pens massage them with letters, figures, and lines. Mouses click subtly instead of squeaking, and perhaps even the distant song of a feathered friend can be heard through an open window.

All is calm, all is quiet.  And then for thousands of office workers across Britain the horror of the office hog rears its gluttonous head in an orgy of crunching, rustling, and munching.

To what nightmarish ordeal do I refer. Why to the opening of a packet of crisps.

The Sloths who Savour Saturated Fat

Have you ever felt that when some indulgent sloth is frolicking about in a care-free manner through their packet-sized feast, that the hosts of Hell themselves are traveling forth to assault your aural ambience?

Do you not simmer with incandescent rage as mouthful after mouthful of saturated fat is consumed at great length and relish by some inconsiderate swine, lacking in the common courtesy to take their addiction to potatoes and grease elsewhere?

The Crisp Crunching Army 

If so my friend, then you are not alone. In a recent online poll of the most annoying sounds in the office, crisp crunching colleagues were found to be the scourge of the British workplace.

Well clap, clap, clap for that then. A sentiment with which I wholeheartedly concur.

Thousands of us have for far too long sat hidden in cloaks of purple rage as some colleague or other, casually opens a packet of torment, and begins to chow down.

The point is that when teeth meet potato chip it creates a symphony of excruciating noise that rips right through the nerve-endings like no other. 

Monkey See, Monkey Do 

What I particularly loathe, is the dreaded domino effect. This happens when the initial culprit has broken the ceasefire by ripping open the modern-day Pandora’s box of artificial flavourings and excessive salt, and by doing so gives the rest of the office carte blanche to do the same.

It’s like feeding time at the trough as the greedy bleeders opt for safety in numbers and all stuff their faces simultaneously, secure in the knowledge that you, by trying to maintain a civilised code of culinary conduct have now become the elitist minority.

Now I enjoy a decent packet of crisps as much as the next man. However, it is not something I wish to impose on others as a communal ‘all-together’ experience. Crisp eating should be  done on a strict ‘behind closed doors’ basis. 

Much as smoking has been banned in public indoor places for a reason, why can’t we have the same respect for our ears as we do for our lungs?

I’m sure that simmering with rage and frustration as some porker spends an eternity savouring their salty snack, is not good for your blood pressure either.

Hungry Hogs and Their Savory Sins

The people who compiled the poll that isolates office crisp eating as evil incarnate said, “People are easily offended by sounds in the office but very few do anything about. Most people are suffering in silence as their colleagues create a cacophony of din around them.”

I now have a theory on why the cartoon character Elmer Fudd was always so hell-bent on blowing that ‘pwesky wabbit’ Bugs bunny to kingdom come. 

It was because when that floppy-eared fool started munching contentedly on a carrot, it was not a million miles away from the actions of a crisp hog and their savoury sins.