It was as if the Universe had combined every thing in the Universe that annoyed her and sat it across from her, just to gauge how she would react. 

The dark haired man that had taken the seat opposite her on the table at which she sat - closer than the two meter radius she usually liked to sustain between herself and strangers - and the clothes he was wearing looked crumpled, as though they had been worn before or deliberately creased. She was naturally self conscious considering the case was probably similar to herself (she had not given herself time to change at the airport) but to see it one someone else, just irritated her. Her hands were itching for an iron, for both their sakes'.

And not only that, but the plate of food that he had piled up in front of himself was absolutely vast. It was in direct contrast to her own ordered plate and she tried not to stare at the grotesque mash-up of seemingly random breakfast foods into a stack of mixed up beans, bacon, hash browns...She resisted the urge not the shudder. She slowed in eating her food, a little more aware of her surroundings now she had sated the worst of her hunger. She piled the bacon into a neat, little tower, in an attempt to soothe herself. It didn't work.

As if to add insult to injury, he was wearing headphones that were blasting out music and he would occasionally bang a part of the tune out on the table or hum it loudly. She frowned, her hands tightening into small fists. This was more than she could take. Perhaps this was a divine test to see whether or not she could cope with everything her OCD forced her to hate. She stopped eating and stood up to retrieve herself a drink, edging out past the people that had taken seats nearby. When she returned, she was clutching a glass of cool orange juice which she placed next to her plate, checking that no one had touched her food or cutlery. Despite the fact she had kept her eyes on her seat during the whole walk to and from where they were serving food.

She took a sip, her hazel eyes still staring at the man with loud music. Was he doing this deliberately? 

She put the glass down on the table with a little more force than she had expected to use. She cleared her throat but she was sure her voice had been buried beneath the loud beat undoubtedly assaulting his ears and so she tried again, using every effort to force a half hearted smile. What was it that her counsellor had told her at times like this? Focus on patterns.

She glanced across at the wallpaper on the walls of the eating place. The pattern was a little bold for her tastes but it was a pattern nonetheless, repeating every foot or so. She sighed a little in relief, drawing strength from the small slice of order in her little world of chaos. The fists her hands had formed loosened a fraction.

"Excuse me; can you turn your music down a little?" she plucked up the courage to address to man, her voice sounding painfully quiet and ending up a little more high-pitched than she usually spoke, tinted by nerves. She racked her brain quickly, searching for something to soften the conversation. What did people normally say in these kind of interactions? She had lost many of her friends long ago and this situation had grown foreign to her.

"My name's Emma," she continued, relaxing a little as she become accustomed to talking, proceeding to cut up the sausage into equal sized mini cylinders to keep herself calm and her voice even "Umm...what's yours?"