How we suffer from a symphony of irritation
BY Richard Glover
16th Apr 2024 Humour
3 min read
Misophonia, or an acute sensitivity to certain sounds, affects most of us, I would argue. Sometimes it can become nothing less than a symphony of irritation!
In the 2022 film Tár, Cate Blanchett
played a conductor who was affected
by misophonia—an acute sensitivity to
certain sounds. For Lydia Tár, Blanchett’s character, the clicking of a pen or the beat of a metronome was enough
to drive her to distraction.
Scientists say the condition affects
about 18 per cent of the population, but
I beg to differ. I think we all suffer from
some from of misophonia.
The slurping of soup
Who doesn’t have a sound or two
that sends them over the edge? For
example, who can bear the slurping of
soup? My understanding is that you are
meant to lift the spoon and tip it, gently
channelling the liquid into your mouth.
"Slurping on soup is a very peculiar noise, like the sound of a thief siphoning petrol from a car"
Instead, people hold the spoon a few
centimetres from their face, blow on
the soup, then inhale sharply, hoping—I guess—to create a low-pressure
system that causes the soup to leap
through the air.
It’s a very peculiar noise, like the
sound of a thief siphoning petrol from a car.
Wet chewing
Not that solid food is much better.
I’m surprised by how many people eat
with their mouth open. The visuals
involved are not great, but the audio is
worse. The mouth, open wide, serves as
a sort of trumpet, broadcasting the
sound of wet chewing.
This symphony of eating can now be
experienced everywhere you go. As you
wait to cross the street, your fellow
pedestrians are like lions at the zoo.
They attack their food as if it were trying
to escape. Liquids, meanwhile, are
slurped upwards, by means of a straw,
in an aural representation of the challenges posed by gravity.
It’s the same at the movies. I love
watching them on the big screen, but
how strange that bombs can be exploding and planes crashing, yet the most
piercing noise is coming from the guy
in row 12 chewing popcorn.
Grinding teeth
I know I shouldn’t criticise others; I
have my own flaws. As an anxious fellow,
I grind my teeth all night long. Now I
have hardly any teeth left—or anyone
willing to share a bed with me.
At one stage, the dentist insisted that
I sleep with a plastic mouth guard that,
when slipped onto my teeth, made a
sound so revolting that it caused the
rapid departure of my fellow bed user
and wife, Jocasta.
"The nighttime mouth guard is the only contraceptive device that is available exclusively from the dentist"
Removing the device also made a
stomach-churning sound, reminiscent
of a rubber boot being pulled from mud.
Sssshloomp. Jocasta, should she have
returned to bed, would flee once more.
As far as I’m aware, the nighttime
mouth guard is the only contraceptive
device that is available exclusively from
the dentist.
Crunching ice cubes
And then there’s ice. After finishing
a gin and tonic, I enjoy crunching on
the cubes at the bottom of the glass
with the few good teeth I have left. This
has an electrifying effect on Jocasta:
Once again, she leaps up and runs for
her life, as you might from a fire.
I have so many bad habits, but this is
the one she judges the worst. “It gives
me shooting pains in my teeth,” she
says. “I imagine what it would be like if
I did it myself. It makes me shudder. It
really is so disgusting.”
Maybe, like Cate Blanchett’s Lydia
Tár, she suffers from misophonia.
Pleasant noises
Are there pleasant noises? Of course.
I love listening to the sounds my dog
Clancy lets out when he’s dreaming, his
tiny squeaks of excitement as he chases
some imaginary rabbit in some imaginary field.
There are others: food sizzling on the barbecue; a beer can opening with an inviting pssst and, on a visit
to the seaside, the waves crashing
rhythmically onto the shore.
Painful sounds dominate
Yet, it’s the painful sounds that stay
with us: a knife squealing on a dinner
plate, a colleague whistling tunelessly or
a neighbour who needs to prove his sexual prowess by loudly revving his car
engine as he sets off to work at 6.15am.
"He can roar his engine all he likes—over the sound of my grinding teeth, I can't hear him at all"
He can roar all he likes—it doesn’t
bother me. Over the sound of my grinding teeth, I can’t hear him at all.
Banner credit: Illustration by Sam Island
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