About two years ago, I decided to make a long day less monotonous by walking the five city blocks to Trader Joe’s over my lunch. I planned on finding some sort of uplifting snack. While some may say the chocolate-covered potato chips are “uplifting,” I needed something that wouldn’t send me directly into a food coma, and later in life, heart surgery. So, I was exploring the healthy snackables when BOOM. There they were. In all of their glory. Zesty Nacho Kale Chips. The healthy parts of my soul perked up, and I marched determinedly to check out.
Back at work, I sat down to enjoy my package of delicious, good-for-you, baked leaves. Just then, my co-worker Marie came sauntering into my office. Marie is what you’d call an OH (original hipster), and for those of you who need further explanation, Huffington Post says: “The OH stance connotes intellect, sexuality, and street smarts.” And because Marie has demonstrated a high aptitude in the aforementioned three categories, I basically trust her with my life.
“What are you eating?” she asked, looking bored and unimpressed. Mainly because eating is a weakness.
“Kale Chips!” I said, so excited I could barely contain the kale chip in my mouth.
“Let me see those.” Marie grabbed them, looking perturbed. As I dove in to grab a chip before Marie deemed them “uneatable” and threw them out, I noticed a little white bag, sticking out amongst the kale chips in the same outsider fashion as that white scum spotted on Ted Cruz’s lip. Having been a frequent victim of tampered-with food, and consequently, weird food viruses, I was not encouraged by this sighting.
“Marie!” I exclaimed, passing her the bag. “What is THAT?”
Marie looked into the bag, pulled out the white bag, and said, “This shouldn’t be in there. This is bad, girl. This is something they put in purses and bags… but not food!”
In retrospect, it seems strange that neither one of us (both in late twenties, college educated, urban armored) had seen this before. It just goes to show, no matter how much you think you’ve seen or know, you still haven’t seen or known nothin’.
“Oh my gosh. Am I going to die? Is that like poison… or something?” I asked, starting to panic.
“I mean – it definitely shouldn’t be in there. If I were you, I’d go purge that shit NOW.” Marie was starting to look borderline concerned.
“Oh my gosh. Okay. Oh no.” I said as I was leaving my office. I literally sprinted to the bathroom on the second floor, burst open a stall, and started to barf myself. I realize this might seem like an alarming choice to some, but I literally thought I had swallowed a foreign substance. Plus, an anxious brain is able to go from zero to sixty at a remarkable speed. As a former dancer, you’d think my spine would be supple enough to handle sudden contractions. But no. As I went in to get more out, my whole back seized up. My spine retracted like a slinky, and my curved, hovering-over-toilet body jerked backward into an arched position as I exclaimed in pain.
Someone in a nearby stall was like, “Ummm. Are you okay?” But considering this was usually the bathroom where people knit on the toilet, pluck their eye brows, and leave poo in the loo, I knew this person wasn’t legitimately concerned. But I was. Now I had unknown material in my body and my back was thrown out. There is no dramatic conclusion to this story, other than the fact I learned the mysterious white bag was just a silica gel packet meant to keep the kale chips FRESH! Not poison me. Not kill me. Keep me ALIVE and HEALTHY! It took several days for my back to return to normal status, and needless to say, I’ve never eaten kale chips again.