escape to insanity

Today at work, shortly before noon, I ventured away from my desk on a trek to the refrigerator to retrieve my mid-day sustenance. It was going to be delicious. On my way there, I noticed a box of candy sitting on the counter next to the sink. *gasp* Candy!!! Wooooo!

Oh. It's not free candy, unfortunately. Far from being a gift from some kind soul to those of us in need of a sugary boost, it was instead a fundraiser box. You know, some kid in some club somewhere needs to raise money, so it's decided that they need to peddle some sort of overpriced knick-knacks, or more often food like this. Except it's very rarely the kid doing any of the work — they hand the box to their parents, who trot off to work and deposit the box somewhere where grazers are sure to swoop in on the promise of delectable treats. Anyway… I digress. Here's the box in question.

Note the price: one dollar.

Then I noticed something. There in front of me was another miracle of modern technology and a monument to our gluttony: a vending machine stocked aplenty with miscellaneous treats. Chips, candy bars, even gum. Practically anything you could think of. Except candy unicorns. Those are hard to come by.

Now note the price there: most of that stuff is around 50, maybe 55 cents. Or $0.55 if you wish. Schfifty-five. About half the price of the candy bars in that other box. Okay, okay, I get it. Before anyone yells at me, I understand that it's a fundraiser — you're not supposed to worry about the price, it's going to a good cause. Supposedly.

I don't see any proof that this is in fact going to any “good cause.” Sure, the box says it's for someone's Little League team. But how am I to prove that? There's no Verisign banner, nothing like that. Of course, the person who put it out graciously provided a photo of a kid in a baseball uniform. Slick, but again… no proof. How am I to know that that's even their kid? I'm sure I can find a stock photo of a kid in a baseball uniform somewhere online. See, take a look at… um… my kid. His name is… um… Harry. Isn't he cute? He… um… has leukemia. And he's blind. And his puppy just died. Here, buy some candy!

Cynicism aside, I'm wondering if maybe this person should have put a bit more thought into their endeavour to spoil their kid and deprive them of the opportunity to go peddling their wares door-to-door in some shady neighborhood. When they chose a location for their highway robbery, they were no doubt looking for a high-traffic spot where people were sure to see the sugar and get suckered in. But… they put it right next to the vending machine.

I didn't get out a tape measure, but I'm pretty sure that's not much more than three, maybe four feet. That's it. Maybe not the brightest move? I dunno… if I'm really hungry for some candy, I'm not gonna grab my wallet. I'm going to rummage around in my pocket for whatever change I can scrounge up and plunk it into the vending machine for something cheap yet tasty. These parents might have been better off putting their fundraiser somewhere like… on a table in their department, where the hungry sugar-cravers will have to contend with the law of supply and demand. They have a demand, and the supply here is so much easier to get to.

Today's bit of advice:

To the guy ahead of me in line at Subway:
While going to Subway for lunch may sound good when you're stoned at 1:00 in the afternoon, there are others behind you in line who are genuinely hungry without the aid of recreational drugs. We'd appreciate it if you would make up your mind on what you want in terms of a sub.

No, you cannot get your footlong sub two different ways. You can get one footlong sub made one way, or you can get two six inch subs made two separate ways. You cannot go halfsies on the sub without paying extra. It's just not how it works.

Cheese. There's only a few different kinds, just go with whatever you like the best. No, you cannot get a little of each unless you want to pay the extra cost — it says right there on the glass that extra cheese is $0.20 extra. Deal with it.

Toasted, not toasted. It's only two options. Pick one and stick with it. Don't decide you want it toasted, then seconds before it goes in the toaster oven decide you don't want it toasted, only to decide a few seconds later that you do in fact want it toasted. And then rescinding that decision a second time. I know you're toasted, but what about the sub? Just pick one.

Ok, I understand you can get whatever veggies you want, but if you screw up and pick one you don't want… gah. Fine, she can pick off the cucumbers if you actually wanted tomatos, but it's a hassle for her and it's an extra thirty seconds I have to wait for you to get out of the building. And I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but the dressings aren't quite as easy to remove if you make a mistake. Don't tell her you want the southwest sauce, and then say “no no no no not that” a half-second before she pours it out on your sub. If you wanted the oil instead, you should have asked for that the first time.

Seriously. It's not that complex of a task to order a sub. My advice is just this… don't get stoned before coming to Subway. It makes life easier for all of us.

You know what's fun? Managing to accidentally burn a nice little spot on the underside of your tongue. Yep. It's a blast.

You're just sitting there, minding your own business, enjoying what passes for a late-night snack, when BAM.

The pizza you just pulled out of the oven a few minutes earlier is delicious. It's tasty, it's pizza-licious. The sauce is exactly the way it's supposed to be, the cheese is nicely melted and just a little browned, and the crust is almost perfectly cooked. Granted, the edges of the crust were a little darker and crispier than you'd prefer, but overall it's a successful pizza run.

You've enjoyed the first slice. It was a little warm at first, being so fresh from the oven, but you were careful and got through it in one piece. You might have lost a tiny piece of pepperoni to gravity, but the rest of the slice went down in delicious bliss.

The second slice seems to be going just as well. You go in for another bite, expecting another mouthful of happiness, but then something happens. Something is wrong. You can't quite place it, but something… THERE. Now you know what it is. A small bit of the sauce has just escaped its cheesy constraints and made a break for it, trying to get out into the open. But alas, it doesn't seem to be going for the plate several inches below. It goes for the much closer, seemingly safer hiding spot. It's a difficult move, but it manages to pull off the stunt.

The burning hot droplet of formerly delicious pizza sauce is now hiding directly underneath your tongue.

Arguably some of the most sensitive tissue on your entire body, the underside of your tongue is the absolute worst place for hot pizza sauce to land. It's horrible. The slightest little burn, however insignificant it would be if located anywhere else on the body, feels like it's a third-degree burn turning your flesh to ash. You do not want to ever subject that tissue to hot burning sauce. Indeed, hot burning anything, for that matter.

Ow.