In His Shoes

The Big Bang Theory, "Itchy Brain Stimulation": 

Leonard discovers in the junk box a DVD he was supposed to return for Sheldon seven years ago. Knowing Sheldon's OCD tendancies all too well, he begs him not to freak, claiming he will take care of it.

Uncharacteristically, Sheldon calmly acquiesces, much to Leonard's shock. Suspiciously, he keeps asking if Sheldon will actually not flip out, as he has previously woken him up in the night and interrupted his bathroom time, demanding the conclusion of an unresolved task. 

Sheldon: You completely disregard how uncomfortable unresolved issues are for me. It's like an itch in my brain I can't scratch. 

Leonard laughs off that comparison. 

Sheldon: You wouldn't make jokes if you could feel the way I feel. 

Leonard: Well, I don't know how to do that. 

Sheldon thinks a moment, then suggests that Leonard don the hideous, super-itchy sweater from his aunt recently discovered in the junk box, wearing it next to his skin, until this issue is resolved. Leonard accepts the challenge.

The store was closed (obviously), so Leonard searched for the owner, who was dead. While he scrabbles out the sweater in relief, displaying angry red patches of skin, Wolowitz suggests finding the heirs. Weeping, he climbs back into it, and spends the afternoon in the Armenian church where the funeral was held, but there had been no attendees. Sheldon casually mentions searching Armenia for anymore relatives, at which point Leonard is mindless in itchy agony. 

It turned out that Sheldon had been contacted by the video store seven years ago that his DVD was overdue, and he had paid for it (ergo his serenity), but decided to sit on that knowledge since he figured it could turn into a teachable moment.

While I am (hopefully) not as obsessive as Sheldon, I loathe limbo. Not the game, although I am not a fan since I am the first one out, but rather that state of nisht a heir nisht a heen.

I feel oppressed when I have to return a $12 purchase to Old Navy—an unfinished task. I suffer greater agonies when I hear no news regarding what I thought was a good date for days, despite the logical conclusion that he doesn't dig me. 

I also can't stay up late, can't really eat late, don't know how to sleep in, no matter how I try. I really like parsnips. Really.

There are few who are tolerant of my kind. 

But I try to force the sneer mechanism into submission when someone idly moseys over to a store to return an item past the ninety-day limit. When someone can cheerfully bounce around by a wedding when I am struggling to stay awake, gasping at the time ("It's 10:55 already?") When someone gleefully snatches up what I consider to be an unappetizing cookie. 

If I want consideration, I have to dish it out, too. But if I don't get it in return . . . 

     

See ya.