I really shouldn't be telling you this but, should we ever meet, there's one sure fire way to annoy me. It doesn't involve harsh words or physical jostling. It's not about guilt, hostility or rudeness. It's about paper. Dare to mess with a sheet of my paper and I get really annoyed.
In my world every sheet of paper ought to be smooth and flawless, like it's just out of the packet. No crumples, no creases and most definitely no unnecessary folds. I try very hard in my life to preserve the purity of the paper in my possession, and not to allow anyone or anything defile its innate two-dimensionalness. You have been warned.
I'm damned good at preserving sheets of paper in their original flat form. Give me a printed sheet, or some scribbled A4, or any published work, and you can rest assured that it'll come to no harm. I treat photocopies, magazines and even tax forms with due reverence. After I've finished reading a book, it'll still look like it's fresh off the bookstore shelf. I can carry a leaflet across town without a bag and it'll arrive home looking unspoilt and unruffled. Paper is always 100% protected while in my care.
To me, the corner of a sheet of paper is a sacred object. Corners are meant to be perfect right angles, all sharp and pointed, and that's the way I like to keep them. Under no circumstances should they be folded over, either accidentally or deliberately. No process of erosion should be allowed to round them off, say by natural wear and tear or through careless storage. Untidy corners reflect thoughtless handling, and cannot be tolerated.
Other people, it seems, don't share my sense of woodpulp-related responsibility. They'll bung a sheet of paper into a pile, drawer or bag without a second thought for its welfare. They'll grasp a book cover too heavily and leave an indelible crease that no amount of wishing can ever remove. They'll staple willy-nilly, or paperclip too roughly, or holepunch without due care and attention. In short, other people just don't respect the sanctity of paper like I do, and I can't cope with such wanton desecration.
If you're ever handling a sheet of paper that belongs to me, you'd better watch out for telltale signs of my distress. See the pain in my eyes should you accidentally fold the sheet or grasp it too tightly and leave a mark. Watch me wince should you dare to write or doodle thereon, or even dot the page with the tip of a pen. And should I ever risk lending you a book to read (which is quite frankly unlikely), beware my reaction to the unforgivable sins of page-flicking, corner-folding or spine-breaking. I can go off people very quickly, and you'll probably never guess that your unintentional origami was to blame.
I have a suspicion that this behaviour is not normal. Other people aren't quite so obsessed by the preservation of pristine paper. They don't get upset by imperfection, or go out of their way to maintain virginal flatness, not like I do. And yes, I'm aware that I'm acting irrationally. I fully recognise that the meaning of the information written on a page isn't affected by its physical condition. But that doesn't prevent me from going out of my way to protect every sheet of paper in my care from inadvertent harm. Everybody's allowed one irrational aversion in their life. And mine's in creasing.
