I watched my coworker eat a salad today like she was auditioning for a foley artist position. Every leaf got its own sound design—the wet slap, the crunch, the sort of wet whistle at the end. I realized she wasn't eating; she was performing a one-woman ASMR show for people who actively hate ASMR. By the time she finished, I'd aged seven years and developed a twitch. She looked at me and said, "What?" Like I was the weird one for expecting my lunch not to be a concert.