Privileged Person Problems

ROBYN: Please don’t bite me while I’m using tools.
ME: I haven’t bitten you in AGES.

It has recently been borne into me that maybe people don’t normally get hungry like I do? Like maybe for normal people it goes something like this:

Stage 1: Not hungry.

Stage 2: Little bit hungry.

Stage 3: Starting to think about a sandwich.

Stage 4: But I could probably hold out until dinner.

Stage 5: Mmm, a satisfying meal for which I had a healthy appetite!

For me, it goes like this:

Stage 1: Not hungry.

Stage 2: Would claw the face off a toddler for a hamburger.

So when normal people say “I’m hungry,” maybe they mean, “I could eat.” When I say “I’m hungry,” I mean, “I require immediate sustenance! Earth creatures, where might one find nutritional content to satisfy my vast appetite?”

I go straight from feeling fine to belly-rumbling, hand-trembling hunger. Also, and more relevant to the task of getting food into myself, I become extremely stupid.

At home it doesn’t matter; I either buy something or go downstairs and stuff myself with bread. But in Tucson, when the hunger hits, I might be in a car being driven by others, with no idea of when a meal might appear. Stupidly, I try to stick it out for a while, but eventually, my yearning is too great, and I must speak of the gnawing in my gut. Then conversations like this occur:

ME: I’m hungry.
ROBYN: What do you want?
ME: Food.
JAMESON: What kind of food?

What kind? What kind? Don’t bamboozle me with your questions, man! I can’t make decisions in this state! I would like to eat all the food. Failing that, just hand me something to put in my mouth. Doesn’t have to be edible; I’ll chew plastic.

What I said in this post opening is true; I haven’t bitten Robyn in ages. But she’s a martial artist. She’s full of juicy muscle.

Could anyone really blame me if I did?