Obsessive Compulsive

"The sides are a little uneven," he thought, "just a little; not enough for it to be asymmetrical on purpose, just enough to be disturbing." He could feel the compulsiveness starting to swell in his chest. It felt like there wasn't enough oxygen in the air he was breathing, or maybe like he was intensely thirsty, or both. He tried to fight the feeling, to make his mind turn to something else, but it was too late, there was no ignoring it now. Finally, he could take it no longer. He calmly stood up - to an awkward hush that suddenly fell over the room - and walked determinedly around the long table to the man seated across from him. Without a word, he gently lifted the man's hat from his bewildered head, fiddled with the brim - the burning in his chest and arms and hands growing every second he couldn't make the brim exactly right - until finally like a cool refreshing breeze, the compulsive feeling in his chest subsided. He handed the man his hat, muttering some attempt at a quick explanation, and quickly walked back to his chair, calmly took a seat, and tried to act like nothing had happened.
"Are you quite done? Can we resume this meeting?"