A few weeks ago, Joosh flew home from Ventura on the ever-reliable Alaska Airlines/Horizon Airlines Burbank-to-Portland flight. As usual, beer and wine was complimentary (a shocker in this era of spendy spendy but more than bare bones travel - American is now charging $15 for checked luggage, for pity's sake!). Unusually, the choice of snack was interesting.
So interesting in fact, that Joosh grabbed me a sample of the latest "here eat this and don't complain a lot please and thanks" food item being handed out by persons with thin-lipped smiles and extremely well-sprayed hair.
What was so tasty and compelling that he sweetly brought me home a bag? So-called "Veggie Chips" from a brand called Flat Earth, in an unassuming Tomato Herb flavor. They were delicious. And they were fascinating, because they advertise themselves as having a full 1/2 serving of vegetables in every portion. Further investigation into the nutritional contents showed 2 grams of fiber and 2 grams of protein, as well. Hmmmmmm.
I was skeptical, as I often am about non-food food. You know, the food that isn't really food, but rather something processed, stewed up and extruded, then baked or fried or otherwise made to mold permanently into the shape of some kind of food and then heavily marketed as food (Kraft Bagelfuls, anyone?). I'm not big on this sort of thing. But damn if these not-chip chips aren't damn tasty! And I would be totally lying if I said that the whole vegetable/protein/fiber angle didn't hook me, line and sinker. Someone did their focus group research, yo.
So after eating these tasty jibs, I say casually to Joosh that we should get some sometime. Then I promptly forget about them.
Until last week when I: a) find the empty Flat Earth bag in Joosh's shorts pocket and b) see an ad for the little buggers on Television while cradling the sweetest baby on earth (no, the baby has no bearing on the story, I was just holding her slumbering little infant bod while viewing the commercial, hence it was a good memory). The ad was a little confusing for me, something about pigs flying and the impossibility of the product, making me feel like they were offering something too good to be true and therefor must be so - I don't think that's what they were going for, right? I was supposed to feel happy and astonished that the claims were SO true, that pigs were flying. Instead I just felt like I was being made fun of. Still... the veggies, the fiber, the protein, oh my!
So the commercial reinvigorated my interest, and the folded up bag in pants pocket sent me out on the quest. Actually, it sent me talking again about going out on the quest. Which made me mention them to Jess, which then made Joosh make me go out on the quest last Sunday night after we left the Watsons house. (I say quest, by the way, because our regular market was not on the list of stores where these chippies are currently being sold, so we had to go to the big ole chain store we rarely set foot in, except for gum, Glamour magazine, and butter spray for popcorn... truly it is an effort not often made by the likes of me).
And here's what happened on the quest: Enter the store. It's the size of a Super Target and the harsh white lights are eye-ball searingly bright. It's fairly empty, as it's getting on toward closing. (Not entirely empty: there are a bunch of random single people walking in a sort of daze with several items stacked haphazardly in their arms, as if they came in to get two or three necessities for the coming week, didn't grab a basket, then remembered - or were suckered into needing - seven other items along the way to procuring the original two or three items, but refused to grab a basket, instead balancing six to nine items precariously in their folded arms. Three times I hear the thumps and slaps of items dropping out of piles onto the linoleum floor, followed by muttered curses, sighs, and in one case a drop-kick as a woman punted a box of trash bags to the self-check out aisle rather than risk bending over with all the crap clutched to her bosom. Hey, I don't judge - I can totally relate).
Back to the quest: Walk in store. Chuckle silently at, I mean, in solidarity with fellow shoppers. Head to chip aisle. Make first pass, scanning up and down the shelves. Make second pass, scouring each shelf in each section. Retch at a few of the new products that have cropped up since last noticing the cumulative category of non-tortilla chips. Have momentary nostalgia for Funyuns, a staple of swim team days back at the Santa Monica YMCA. Immediately regret nostalgia with memory of oniony chlorine swimwater burps and the associated taste of fear, being yelled at by crazy swim coach who would bellow "LACTIC ACID, YOU NEED LACTIC ACID BURNING THOSE MUSCLES OR YOU'RE SHIT" leaning over pool, two inches from face, mid-backstroke.
After third pass down loooooong chip and snack aisle, remember that this store places all its "healthy" food in the back, so as to not offend mainstream shoppers, or perhaps to singleout and shame all healthfood seekers. Skulk to hidden Where-Non-Preservative-Filled-Food-Goes-To-Die area of store and scour their chip section. Notice that Cheetos has a "Natural White Cheddar Puffs" in a bag that looks suspiciously like Barbara's Natural Cheddar Puffs. Think that makers of non-food food are getting very clever. Feel simultaneously impressed and disgusted. Continue search for magical fiber filled veggie chips, to no avail.
Make Joosh look up product on his Crackberry, except have trouble remembering the brand name. Mention flying pigs, something about earth, and the fact that they are chips with veggies and fiber. Because he is magical (or because their SEO people are fantastic) Joosh finds the Flat Earth web site, and suggests that they should be in the "Healthy snacks" section of your local grocery. A mild annoyance that has been creeping in at the edges of this misadventure rises significantly. Snap at Joosh that there is no "Healthy Snacks" section, except where we are standing. Sniff dismissively when he suggests trying "the granola bars aisle." Whatever, dude. (Ignore sudden craving for Quaker chocolate chip granola bars, a staple of soccer practice back in the 80's. Mmmm, orange wedges and Capri Sun. Feel the need to start humming "Like a Virgin" but resist same).
Upon final perusal of helathy chips and snacks section, become further enraged at the entire quest and prepare to storm out of the store. Until Joosh says "Why don't you ask someone where they are?" Because, hello, that's not how I roll. Ask "Do you not know me at all?" and remind him of my guy-like tendancy to not want to interact with store employees or people on the street in order to ask for things like directions, guidance, or advice. Note the disappointed look on his face (cause he's sure as hell not going to ask someone, sure bet!) and decide to ask employee on her knees in the popcorn and snack crackers area. (Ignore sudden craving for Ritz crackers with peanut butter). The crackers are directly across from the cookies arena. Ignore Joosh when he says he has a sudden craving for Oreos. Don't notice that he disappears as on-knees store employee with coke bottle glasses asks if she can help find anything.
Describe chips, forgetting the name again, but mentioning earth, and servings of vegetables, and fiber. Employee says "Oh, well, I'm not sure if these are the same, but there's something like that on aisle 17, try there. And if not, try the healthy snacks area in the back." Grrrrrr. I smile and thank her and head over to aisle 17.
Have you guessed what aisle 17 is all about? Let me give you a hint: Jolly Green Giant. People, it's the vegetable aisle. Start laughing out loud and look around to see if Joosh has followed to this delightfully ridiculous discovery. He has not. Marvel at the scene. Stacks and stacks of canned veggies, topped by a row of furit and veggie chips, as if they were truly another variety of veg. Consider that the marketing department for the makers of this product are total geniuses, and don't even bother to feel sheepish at being shepharded in such a manner. You are a sucker. So what? These critters are delicious. Opt for three bags: Garlic and something, Cheese, and Apple Cinnamon.
Go look for Joosh, who finally appears with a pack of gum and a magazine. He looks a little bummed, until he sees the triumphant chips on the checkout stand. He's been looking for small snack packs of Oreos but was not succussful. (When it looks like he might go pick up a regular size package of the cracky little circles, remind him that they are made with lard, and that if his brand of vegetarianism isn't going to allow thai dishes with even a drop of oyster or fish sauce, he's sure as hell not going to be purchasing a shit-ton of rendered animal fat sandwiched between two chocolate wafer cookies). Distract him from the oncoming existential -ism crisis by telling him about the awe-inspiring placement of the long-sought after veggie chips. He is not a believer in the tale. Drag him to aisle 17. Watch his eyes widen at the scene. Crack up anew.
The kicker: Joosh picks up a bag and examines the back. Veggies - check. Fiber - 2 grams, check. Protein - 2 grams, check. Vitamins - check. Calories to fat grams - eh, not too cringeworthy, about the same as other chips, except with veggies, so better, right? Check, check, check.
"Oh. Huh," he says.
"What?" says I.
"Flat Earth is Frito-Lay."
"Ha ha, sure." I am sure he's just being funny. I turn over a bag in my hands. Nope. It's funny alright, but not intentionally.
Nicely done, Frito-Lay. Well played. I surrender.
Pass the not-chips, please. Did I mention they have a half serving of vegetables in every portion?
So interesting in fact, that Joosh grabbed me a sample of the latest "here eat this and don't complain a lot please and thanks" food item being handed out by persons with thin-lipped smiles and extremely well-sprayed hair.
What was so tasty and compelling that he sweetly brought me home a bag? So-called "Veggie Chips" from a brand called Flat Earth, in an unassuming Tomato Herb flavor. They were delicious. And they were fascinating, because they advertise themselves as having a full 1/2 serving of vegetables in every portion. Further investigation into the nutritional contents showed 2 grams of fiber and 2 grams of protein, as well. Hmmmmmm.
I was skeptical, as I often am about non-food food. You know, the food that isn't really food, but rather something processed, stewed up and extruded, then baked or fried or otherwise made to mold permanently into the shape of some kind of food and then heavily marketed as food (Kraft Bagelfuls, anyone?). I'm not big on this sort of thing. But damn if these not-chip chips aren't damn tasty! And I would be totally lying if I said that the whole vegetable/protein/fiber angle didn't hook me, line and sinker. Someone did their focus group research, yo.
So after eating these tasty jibs, I say casually to Joosh that we should get some sometime. Then I promptly forget about them.
Until last week when I: a) find the empty Flat Earth bag in Joosh's shorts pocket and b) see an ad for the little buggers on Television while cradling the sweetest baby on earth (no, the baby has no bearing on the story, I was just holding her slumbering little infant bod while viewing the commercial, hence it was a good memory). The ad was a little confusing for me, something about pigs flying and the impossibility of the product, making me feel like they were offering something too good to be true and therefor must be so - I don't think that's what they were going for, right? I was supposed to feel happy and astonished that the claims were SO true, that pigs were flying. Instead I just felt like I was being made fun of. Still... the veggies, the fiber, the protein, oh my!
So the commercial reinvigorated my interest, and the folded up bag in pants pocket sent me out on the quest. Actually, it sent me talking again about going out on the quest. Which made me mention them to Jess, which then made Joosh make me go out on the quest last Sunday night after we left the Watsons house. (I say quest, by the way, because our regular market was not on the list of stores where these chippies are currently being sold, so we had to go to the big ole chain store we rarely set foot in, except for gum, Glamour magazine, and butter spray for popcorn... truly it is an effort not often made by the likes of me).
And here's what happened on the quest: Enter the store. It's the size of a Super Target and the harsh white lights are eye-ball searingly bright. It's fairly empty, as it's getting on toward closing. (Not entirely empty: there are a bunch of random single people walking in a sort of daze with several items stacked haphazardly in their arms, as if they came in to get two or three necessities for the coming week, didn't grab a basket, then remembered - or were suckered into needing - seven other items along the way to procuring the original two or three items, but refused to grab a basket, instead balancing six to nine items precariously in their folded arms. Three times I hear the thumps and slaps of items dropping out of piles onto the linoleum floor, followed by muttered curses, sighs, and in one case a drop-kick as a woman punted a box of trash bags to the self-check out aisle rather than risk bending over with all the crap clutched to her bosom. Hey, I don't judge - I can totally relate).
Back to the quest: Walk in store. Chuckle silently at, I mean, in solidarity with fellow shoppers. Head to chip aisle. Make first pass, scanning up and down the shelves. Make second pass, scouring each shelf in each section. Retch at a few of the new products that have cropped up since last noticing the cumulative category of non-tortilla chips. Have momentary nostalgia for Funyuns, a staple of swim team days back at the Santa Monica YMCA. Immediately regret nostalgia with memory of oniony chlorine swimwater burps and the associated taste of fear, being yelled at by crazy swim coach who would bellow "LACTIC ACID, YOU NEED LACTIC ACID BURNING THOSE MUSCLES OR YOU'RE SHIT" leaning over pool, two inches from face, mid-backstroke.
After third pass down loooooong chip and snack aisle, remember that this store places all its "healthy" food in the back, so as to not offend mainstream shoppers, or perhaps to singleout and shame all healthfood seekers. Skulk to hidden Where-Non-Preservative-Filled-Food-Goes-To-Die area of store and scour their chip section. Notice that Cheetos has a "Natural White Cheddar Puffs" in a bag that looks suspiciously like Barbara's Natural Cheddar Puffs. Think that makers of non-food food are getting very clever. Feel simultaneously impressed and disgusted. Continue search for magical fiber filled veggie chips, to no avail.
Make Joosh look up product on his Crackberry, except have trouble remembering the brand name. Mention flying pigs, something about earth, and the fact that they are chips with veggies and fiber. Because he is magical (or because their SEO people are fantastic) Joosh finds the Flat Earth web site, and suggests that they should be in the "Healthy snacks" section of your local grocery. A mild annoyance that has been creeping in at the edges of this misadventure rises significantly. Snap at Joosh that there is no "Healthy Snacks" section, except where we are standing. Sniff dismissively when he suggests trying "the granola bars aisle." Whatever, dude. (Ignore sudden craving for Quaker chocolate chip granola bars, a staple of soccer practice back in the 80's. Mmmm, orange wedges and Capri Sun. Feel the need to start humming "Like a Virgin" but resist same).
Upon final perusal of helathy chips and snacks section, become further enraged at the entire quest and prepare to storm out of the store. Until Joosh says "Why don't you ask someone where they are?" Because, hello, that's not how I roll. Ask "Do you not know me at all?" and remind him of my guy-like tendancy to not want to interact with store employees or people on the street in order to ask for things like directions, guidance, or advice. Note the disappointed look on his face (cause he's sure as hell not going to ask someone, sure bet!) and decide to ask employee on her knees in the popcorn and snack crackers area. (Ignore sudden craving for Ritz crackers with peanut butter). The crackers are directly across from the cookies arena. Ignore Joosh when he says he has a sudden craving for Oreos. Don't notice that he disappears as on-knees store employee with coke bottle glasses asks if she can help find anything.
Describe chips, forgetting the name again, but mentioning earth, and servings of vegetables, and fiber. Employee says "Oh, well, I'm not sure if these are the same, but there's something like that on aisle 17, try there. And if not, try the healthy snacks area in the back." Grrrrrr. I smile and thank her and head over to aisle 17.
Have you guessed what aisle 17 is all about? Let me give you a hint: Jolly Green Giant. People, it's the vegetable aisle. Start laughing out loud and look around to see if Joosh has followed to this delightfully ridiculous discovery. He has not. Marvel at the scene. Stacks and stacks of canned veggies, topped by a row of furit and veggie chips, as if they were truly another variety of veg. Consider that the marketing department for the makers of this product are total geniuses, and don't even bother to feel sheepish at being shepharded in such a manner. You are a sucker. So what? These critters are delicious. Opt for three bags: Garlic and something, Cheese, and Apple Cinnamon.
Go look for Joosh, who finally appears with a pack of gum and a magazine. He looks a little bummed, until he sees the triumphant chips on the checkout stand. He's been looking for small snack packs of Oreos but was not succussful. (When it looks like he might go pick up a regular size package of the cracky little circles, remind him that they are made with lard, and that if his brand of vegetarianism isn't going to allow thai dishes with even a drop of oyster or fish sauce, he's sure as hell not going to be purchasing a shit-ton of rendered animal fat sandwiched between two chocolate wafer cookies). Distract him from the oncoming existential -ism crisis by telling him about the awe-inspiring placement of the long-sought after veggie chips. He is not a believer in the tale. Drag him to aisle 17. Watch his eyes widen at the scene. Crack up anew.
The kicker: Joosh picks up a bag and examines the back. Veggies - check. Fiber - 2 grams, check. Protein - 2 grams, check. Vitamins - check. Calories to fat grams - eh, not too cringeworthy, about the same as other chips, except with veggies, so better, right? Check, check, check.
"Oh. Huh," he says.
"What?" says I.
"Flat Earth is Frito-Lay."
"Ha ha, sure." I am sure he's just being funny. I turn over a bag in my hands. Nope. It's funny alright, but not intentionally.
Nicely done, Frito-Lay. Well played. I surrender.
Pass the not-chips, please. Did I mention they have a half serving of vegetables in every portion?
4 comments:
1) Why do I keep flying on Southwest when I could be getting free drinks and non-chips on Alaska? Sonofabitch.
2) The mega-chains are my life now in AZ. There are no independent/ family-owned chains of lovely grocery stores with spacious eateries inside, where everything is marked with placards made by graphic designers, where every aisle contains healthy and/or organic food. No.
The closest thing is Whole Foods and I refuse to shop there. The one in Tempe is an overpriced Safeway with non-friendly, non-helpful staff. Shit, at least at Safeway they will help you, not look at you smugly like "why the hell are you talking to me?" which brings me to my next point:
3) Asking for help. Amby, this is the secret beauty of the world and you need to get on the bandwagon. Asking for help (especially directions) is not an admission of incompetence. Oh no. It's the proper utilization of resources that exist in your universe and they are there to make your life easier. Of course, when you ask for directions and they refer you to a non-existent area of the store that isn't technically "help" but nevertheless, you can get anything in the freakin world if you ask nice enough - I swear.
4) Frito-Lay. The big companies own everything (Chipotle-McDonalds, Scharffen Berger-Hershey) - it sucks. But, they can mass distribute like no one else, making sure to get your delicious non-chips at least in one place in P-town.
Hershey's owns Scharfen-Berger? Damn. Very well done, by the way, A. I feel like a I just put down a comical, nuanced mini-feature in a Allure-esque magazine. (and the next time the flat earth commerical with the flying pig comes on, notice the house they're in. it is destined to belong to me.)
Thank you, M. I'll look for your future house (see, they really did do their demographic homework, it's crazy!).
Bex, you are so funny. When you are a richie rich lawyer, you can have all your Andronicos-type food fed ex'd biweekly. I'll arrange it with the cabana boy. ;)
Actually, what am I saying? By then you'll move out of AZ (to Portland!) and be so grateful for the plethora of good food, culture, and all the other wonderful things you've been missing (moisture, for example) that you'll be totally blissed out all the time. It'll be rad.
As for the directions-asking thing, I am usually pretty good about this, except that recently I've been so gd annoyed by the interactions gone wrong (usually do to lack of effective communication when it comes right down to it, but whether that's my fault or the other party's, I can't really tell for sure... though I am, of course, the common thread in each interaction, but this is a scary truth I am not yet ready to face. Then again, half the time I do get ridiculous responses that I know to be coming from the ass end of the person's talking scope, so I don't know...). I generally don't think of asking as any sort of admission of incompetence, just an emblem of laziness. Next time I hesitate to ask, I will think of you and push through my resistance.
And though I know this is going to annoy you slightly, I must point it out because it's so a propos -
Look at this list, and please note numbers 16 and 55 respectively: http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/bestcompanies/2008/full_list/
Thanks for the linky, Amby - I'm shocked WF is ranked so high... if it's such a great place to work, why are they all a-holes?
Maybe because their privileged spot at #16 gives them the indignation? I'm not sure, but OK, I'll accept it. And #55 is not bad - notice how many of our former employers are not listed?! ha
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