Sometimes, I just need to eat some salt and vinegar potato chips at 1:12 on Friday afternoon. Most Fridays, though, I want to relive my childhood and drink chocolate milk out of a carton. Today, I believed in supporting local businesses and also unconsciously followed trends I probably don’t even like.
I also ate my salt and vinegar chips in an elevator. There was a thirty-three year old business-casual man standing in the other corner. I slowed my jaw mid-chew; I was extremely self-conscious and wanted to talk to him about my loud crunching and ask him if the noise was as loud as I thought. I wanted to ask him if he ever had those hyper-aware moments where he felt like a giant, like his movements were the same as the ones attached to people in those flip-books that I know he liked to make in the corner of his science notebook. I didn’t say anything. I only gave him a small peek.
At work, he sits near three girls and wants to marry one of them. She’s the love of his life, but he will probably never see her without a pen behind her ear. He will, though, always know how she loves red peppers dipped in hummus and never not take the stairs.