Snack Anyone?

It must be Christmas because I'm getting invites to parties. Some of them are work-related; the other night I got a last-minute invite to a party in Clayton. It was short notice but that was fine - it's great to do stuff without having to plan everything two fucking months in advance, which seems to be a requirement for acceptable suburban living. Anyway, I told myself that the belated invite was more a reflection of a desire on the part of the organizers to inject some extra personality than a desperate realization that more bodies were needed, necessitating a dip into the lower echelons of potential party guests.

The event happened to be on Thursday night, which distinguished itself by being the night we got some freezing rain. Not a lot of freezing rain, it has to be said, but apparently it doesn't take much to turn the whole of the greater St.Louis area into a giant fucking parking lot. I left work and went to pull into the three lane parking structure otherwise known as Highway 40; I immediately thought better of this plan on being presented with a sea of brake lights and zero discernible vehicle movement, and decided on a more creative route instead.

No matter how clever I thought I was being, I still ended up taking at least twice as long to reach my destination, in spite of the complete absence of any slippery road surface, accidents, lane closures or other obstacles (barring a high concentration of rush-hour dickheads). Nevertheless my time in my vehicle was not wasted. Sure, I may have been so bored that I even tuned into NPR for a moment, but I got to observe my fellow traffic jam sufferers and in doing so it occurred to me to ask an important sociological question:

If there were no traffic delays, where would people go to pick their noses?

I know you've seen it too - you glance in your rearview mirror at the car pulled up to your bumper, and can't help but notice that the driver has their finger embedded in their nostril, often up to the second knuckle. You look away but, like with a road accident, you can't help looking again. Sure enough the finger is still up there, the picker oblivious to observation by other drivers. They think they're invisible, so they dig around, pushing their nose in all directions as they attempt to capture that elusive crusty bit. If you're smart you look away now, and avoid all use of the mirror for the remainder of your journey. If, however, you wait too long, compelled to watch by a mixture of disbelief and horror, you risk witnessing the withdrawal of the nasal contents and the fascination with which the owner observes them, before commencing the rolling process.

I know people pick their noses, but it's probably one of the last taboos; men would sooner admit to enjoying the act of masturbation than being a nosepicker. For women I'm less sure (answers on a postcard - would you rather be known as a gusset-typist or a nosepicker?) but it's clearly still a social no-no. Having said that, it's clear that people would sooner risk being caught picking their nose in public than masturbating, at least judging by observations in traffic jams. (Unless all those people steering with one hand are not in fact adjusting the radio with the other.)

It could, however, be worse. I was in the departure lounge at Heathrow last Christmas, returning with the family from a visit to the UK, when I noticed a large, fat man in a white shirt, tie and business suit, exploring his nose. He was sitting behind my wife so I could hardly miss him. This, by the way, was the first class lounge, so he was obviously a senior level nosepicker. He dug around, at one point I swear reaching the third knuckle, and then withdrew his finger. He stared at whatever was on the end of it for a second and then stuck it in his mouth. Fucking hell! Once I got over the urge to vomit I had to be restrained by my spouse from going over to him to point out the extensive range of alternative refreshments available in the lounge:

"Do you realize, Mr Fat Wanker, that this executive lounge provides a full range of alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages for your enjoyment? Are you also aware of the delightful range of assorted small sandwiches (with crusts removed) available for your delectation? Would it interest you to know that British Airways provides a wide variety of bicuits, chocolates, potato chips, nuts, fruit and other snacks to enable you to pass the time before your flight in comfort, while meeting all your nutritinal needs and desires? Could I therefore ask just what fucked-up, diseased impulse would cause you to consume the contents of your nose, in a public place, in preference to availing yourself of our many complimentary amenities? You fucking twat!"

Tomorrow we're bringing food into work for a Christmas party on our floor. I'm taking sausage rolls, a delicacy seemingly unfamiliar to my US friends. I worried for a moment that they might not be fully appreciated, but then I reconsidered. If I learned anything from my nasal observations it's that people will, if permitted, eat just about fucking anything.


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison