It’s 3:24 PM on a Tuesday in low-level Corporate Americana. With lunch in the rear view and happy hour an eternal 90 minutes in the distance, hunger pangs take over any ability to finish the stack of TPS reports on your desk. You’ve already read every article on ESPN, feigned laughter at a puppy video your cubemate Karen inter-office IMed you and found out what Game of Thrones death you’re most likely to die based on your food preference, thanks to Buzzfeed.
Like a mindless zombie in need of human flesh, you find yourself staring blankly at the 3rd floor vending machine. You shift slightly to block the light coming in from the window that provides just enough glare that show a reflection of your gut that sticks out slightly over your Dockers and no longer afford you the privilege of wearing slim fit cut shirts. Maybe it’s this self realization or the recent biometric screening that indicated you were at risk for what Wilford Brimley calls “diabeetus”, but you immediately abandon the vending machine blue bloods in lieu of something healthier.
You attempt to justify the health qualities of peanut M&Ms and even mill over the off brand Pita chips until you notice their expiration stamp which dates back to an intern class that is now middle management. And then you see it, sharing the same light that illuminated the very imperfection that got you to this new low point. Like a sign from the CEO of the heavens, God himself beckoned you to select E5, the Nature Valley bar. A relative bargain at 75 cents, this dual threat snack is the closest thing you can get to a cookie while basking in the glory of subtle approval from the “crunchy” and vegan crowds alike.
After a vending machine scare that evokes feelings of the “I’m late” text, gravity does its job and you are the proud owner of delicious sustenance that will get you through your 4 PM “touch base.”
Maybe it was the 3 foot vertical fall or poor distribution of the chemicals meant to hold these chunks of granola together, but you suddenly remember why you don’t by these on your weekly trip to Sam’s Club to buy family sized boxes of Lucky Charms, knockoff brand Snack Packs and of course every post-grads mainstay, eggs.
As if the friendly folks over at General Mills are actually diabolical members of the Islamic State, it looks like a pipe bomb full of granola shrapnel went off at your desk. Oh the humanity. Roughly 27 cents worth of Nature Valley bar lay strewn amongst your papers strategically placed to help you look busy … and jammed in your keyboard.
Things only get worse once you bite into one of these snacks of mass destruction. Each bite sets off another IED of desktop devastation not seen since the great coffee flood of December 2015. Your cube just became the non-English-speaking cleaning ladies biggest nightmare.
So with further adieu (/showing off my 6th grade creative writing skill any longer) my Sharktank idea to rid the world of this ailment is as follows:
A plastic cup custom fit to Nature Valley bars that will not only act as a holder for these messy marvels of modern science, but will capture and allow you to easily eat ALL the falling crumbs without performing some sort of awkward cunnilingus on your wrapper to get roughly 26% of your snack. Using patented Push Pop technology, you’ll only ever have to bite off as much as you can chew.
But wait there’s more! Remember how precarious the commencement of this dance with the devil is? That booby trapped packaging has lost more customers for Nature Valley than that finger in chili did for Wendy’s.
So with every custom cup will come one package protector. This cone shaped catch basin might look like a coffee filter, but the only thing it’s going to filter is delicious Nature Valley Bar to your gut.
You’re welcome world.