As I looked down at the cotton shirt that adorned my poor stomach divested of nourishment, the salvation of the vending machine called out to me. I stormed hence upon the aforementioned machine, pulling a crisp dollar from my pocket eagerly. A Pop-Tart was what I required, two beautiful, perfect, wheat pastry shells filled inside and out with succulent chocolate and fudge, or perhaps cinnamon frosting. “Two pastries both alike in dignity, in fair Vendomatic where we lay our scene…” (my mind was already delirious with hunger, I suppose). In any event, I quickly obtained the object of my desire.
I unwrapped it.
Pain. Regret. Deep emotion like a channel. There was only one Pop-Tart in the wrapping. “How could this be?” I asked myself, astounded. Reader, there is no feeling like that of high expectations met with the great defeating blow of reality. You walk out on the morning of a festive holiday expecting the best wrapped gift you can place in your imagination, to be met with the opposite of what you wanted. Or worse, perhaps, your relatives have gotten you the wrong version of that thing you desired, a stuffed cat instead of a live puppy, an iTunes giftcard when you have an Android.
Emotions welled up inside me. How could they charge me 75 percent of the price for what was a 50 percent reduction in product? This is outrageous, I thought; the dollar is doing well on world markets. The length of my ties does not exceed my belt. I polish my own shoes. What could I have done to bring such a curse of travesty upon myself? I now could only consume 200 calories worth of wonderful high-fructose goodness so essential to the school and world economy. Now, we live in a time when belts are thin, times are tough, a fascist state health program crushes the hungry proletariat of learners. It seemed to me a sort of personal insult. I had so wanted two, I kept thinking. Expectations, tradition, respect, these are the things that ground our daily life. Taken away, I was left confused, bewildered, hungry.