An Open Letter to the Fruit Company That Ruined Breakfast
Usually when people are unemployed for months at a time, they start to dream up get-rich-quick schemes. Hence, the alarming success of Nigerian presidents ready to wire money to your checking account TODAY.
The thing is - I'm the only person alive who seems to come up with get-rich-slowly schemes. It started in high school when I decided I would devote my life to becoming the jerk who waves in the backgrounds of other people's home movies. My thought was that with enough time and effort, I would become rich and famous as, the world over, friends shared their home videos and noticed me waving from Peru, Disney World and their daughter's play.
"Gee, Sally, that's funny. I think that same girl waving behind Snow White in your video, can be seen waving from backstage during my daughter's Grease solo."
Then I decided I would start an anti-greeting card business. Instead of thank-yous with kind notes inside for your friends, my anti-greeting cards would be for your enemies. (Outside): "You know when you get something stuck in your teeth, and you can't get it out, even with a toothpick?" (Inside): "Stop calling me."
Yeah, great idea: let's further the spread of misery and gloom.
My latest plan? People pay me to write strongly-worded letters to companies. Why, you ask, would anyone pay for this service? Well, because the letters are strongly-worded, of course.
This morning - prime example. I decide to make peach pancakes from scratch. I do the whole thing with the flour and baking powder and eggs, drain the peaches and dump their tangy goodness into the batter. My husband grins, and I grin back as they solidify into warm, chewy discs on the stove top. Then it happens, one bite and I realize something has gone horribly wrong. This my friends, is where my strongly-worded letter enters the scene.
An Open Letter to the Fruit Company That Ruined Breakfast:
Dear Peach Makers,
I now realize that the subtle placement of cinnamon sticks on the labels of your "Harvest Spice" peach cans was meant to warn me that some marketing genius decided it would be a good idea to dump fruit into a vat of pumpkin-spice-chemical-sludge. But until I ruined an entire batch of peach pancakes this morning, this can looked just like any other harmless container of fruit.
Maybe it's just me, but I don't think peaches - nature's little miracles - require improvement. But if you are going to take it upon yourself to destroy a perfectly good can of peaches, the least you could do is cover it in cornucopias or something vile to visually alert the consumer.
Here are my demands: 45 cans of unbastardized peaches, a professional chef to make me pancakes at my leisure, $745 in unmarked bills and a public apology broadcast from Times Square.
I think you will find that my demands are reasonable considering the circumstances.
The Job Stalker