First of all, where do you get off?

That’s confrontational. I’m sorry. You’re just doing your job, and this is no way to start a discourse where we both feel heard.

I’ll start again.

I feel it’s weird that all of a sudden you have healthy food inside you. That one night, you became stocked with high-priced bars made of millet.

Like, it’s just… I always felt I knew you, like I saw you. You! You were the place for illicit strips of Jack Link’s. For Peanut M&Ms. For those crackers that are orange, with the sheet of peanut butter that peels off in a single slab; a sinful, nutty tongue leather.

We had our own language. I would never buy Funyuns at the grocery store — what if someone saw? But you said, “Honey, it’s fine. They’re rings of salt and air. They’re air salt. They’re slair.”

And when I had my third PayDay of the week in March, you were all, “Baby gurl, you work hard. It is 3:15 on a Thursday, you forgot to wear deodorant today, your cat was really rude this morning, and you deserve this.”

You were so cute. Remember that time you thought “acai” was a hookah bar in Portland?

I mean, don’t get me wrong. You always pissed me off from time to time, like last Friday when I had to buy three jumbo Rice Krispie treats just to get the one in front to fall out of your coil. And honestly, you owe me like $65.

I should have suspected something was up around the time you started accepting credit cards. Who needs a credit card for an 85-cent bag of T.G.I. Friday’s Potato Skins?

Then it happened.

Roasted almonds. $2.25.

So-called “sunrise trail mix” for $2.75.

Clif Bars. What even is that? Something for me to jump off of? $2.50.

What the hell are you trying to say?


I feel like this change is loaded with some sort of messaging, and I’m curious as to your answer. When you were like, “Bae, fresh Honey Buns up in hizzy today,” was that a trap? Were you loading me up with garbage just to break me down for your healthy upsell?

You know I don’t actually want roasted almonds, and yet you know I’m going to buy them anyway, because now I have the option, and I can’t just be like, “I really can’t focus on my 3 o’clock without something in my stomach, I’m not someone who functions that way,” and then head down and get a bag of Knott’s Berry Farm Strawberry Shortbread.

No, no, you don’t get it. Now I have no choice but to buy the motherfu…

Sorry. Sorry. I just. Almonds? This isn’t you. This isn’t us.

Please, say something.

Out of service?

Why should I be surprised? You always shut down.