jakorte's blog

7:50 am: I'm Thursday morning tired. Even an expensive cup of dark cherry mocha iced java hasn’t jolted me awake.
I can’t keep my eyes open. I decide to take action knowing for certain that I’ve never fallen asleep while eating.

7:55 am: Baked or regular chips?
7:56 am: Baked or regular chips?
7:57 am: Coworker rounds the corner into the kitchen, observes me pondering and advises, “Don’t do it!”
7:58 am: Regular chips.
7:59 am: Where are my chips? I saw them fall. Coworker asks, “Stuck?” "Nope. They fell, but I can’t find them."
8:00 am: We peer into the black abyss of vending darkness. They’re sitting there on some sort of ledge attached to the swinging flap. I stick my hand in under the swinging flap and can teasingly feel one slippery corner of the bag.
8:04 am: Coworker and I have both been trying for 4 minutes to free the chips.
8:05 am: Coworker gives up, pours coffee and abandons me. Nurse arrives and tries her helping hand.
8:06 am: Nurse gives up, grabs coffee, and abandons me.

I pull on my bull-dog mentality McGyver cap, determined to be resourceful. Retrieving a pair of metal-toothed ice tongs from the kitchen utensil drawer, I attempt to grab the chips with them. The bag budges a little, but all I really manage to do is slide the bag from one side of the ledge to the other. By this time I am kneeling on the floor, arm halfway into the machine, tongs still stubbornly clamped on the bag of chips. Ingeniously, I decide to jar the bag off it's perch by repeatedly banging the flap open and shut.

8:07 am: Computer guru comes in. Looks the situation over, pours coffee, and pauses on his way out. With typical early morning dry IT humor, and a bit of a twinkle in his eye, he shake shis head and inquires: “Have you tried rebooting?”
I shoot him a look that I hope silently projects how lucky he is that the hand holding the toothy tongs is attached to the arm that is still halfway into the machine.
8:08 am: I grab more firmly with the tongs, accidentally puncturing the bag, letting the air out. I slam the flap a few more times and my deflated bag of chips finally falls off the ledge, into the bin.
8:10 am: I notice that the chip bag in nearly flat. I pat it gently and instinctively know: all the golden chips are now only casserole topping worthy. I grab my coffee and a spoon and head for my office.
8:11 am: My boss is sitting in my office waiting for me. She eyes me inquisitively as I arrive with a crumpled, deflated, torn bag of chips and a spoon. “Breakfast?” she asks. “Yes,” I sigh.
8:15 am: After morning briefing, I cut open the top of the bag and confirm that the chips are pretty much pulverized. Still, I am not deterred. I grab the spoon and dig in.
I wanted the chips. I struggled for the chips, I paid for the chips.
I’m gonna darn well eat the chips!

Halfway through the bag I realize I’m on revenge autopilot, and not doing myself any favors.

I glance at my Weight Watcher’s Log Book - purposefully positioned to discourage this kind of dramatic and drastic desperate behavior. I put down the spoon, and reluctantly pencil in ½ of the points value for the crummy bag of crumbled chips. I throw the remaining other half into my waste basket.

OK. I figure I’ve at least done some good stretching, bending and reaching exercises in this morning, but I’m not about to credit myself with exercise points for that.

Nah, I’ll just credit myself exercise points for all the extra typing this experience has resulted in.