i object

You know, I don’t want to get off on one of those “things that must go” rants. That’s not my way.

And yet.

Something icky has happened three times in the last week. I can’t contain myself any longer.

Remember in Eddie Murphy’s classic (well, okay, not classic. Not great. But fun?) The Golden Child? He’s sitting there, talking to the crazy old Buddhist warrior guy who is the father of the woman he loves? Mid conversation, the old guy picks his nose, and Eddie says out loud what we’re all thinking–”You’re just gonna pick that? And . . . now you’re wiping it on your jacket.”

Well, I’ll be talking to someone, just, you know, in the middle of a conversation. Could be about anything. Work. Baseball. Healthcare. Bad Halloween treats. Whatever.

And suddenly (really) the guy (in fact, not always a guy) will, usually without pausing his train of thought, usually mid-sentence, dig a finger into his ear, root around for a second, pull said finger out, examine anything stuck to it, flick any encountered debris to the wind, and continue speaking as if nothing happened.

Ack.

Or, in an even more egregious act of social faux pax-itude, he will scratch at something directly on his face with the same results.

These are not social retards I’m talking about here. Not people who, if they suddenly picked their noses in a board meeting you would just shrug and say “Well, that’s Benji–he may be a social retard, but jeez you should see him write code.” I’m talking about people who are otherwise socially and professionally successful ladder climbers. Actual people.

Look, I’m all for personal grooming. Yes, keep your earways clear. Remove distracting and itchy acne or boils from your skin, especially your face.

But really? While you’re talking to me? Right in front of me? In mid sentence with me?

I object.