Walking away from the fancy new espresso machine in the kitchen (indulging on my 5th cup of the day), I noticed a Cup-o-Noodle SOUPER MEAL container sitting at the top of the trash. The container was the size of half a honeydew and represented so much of what my company is—part “poor-me” teenage angst-esque bullshit, part I can’t afford better because I work here, part middle-of-the-road slow death hidden behind could-be-worse options. Somebody had scraped every dried carrot out of that sucker. And now, I was hoping, eating a fried Twinkie. I thought, nobody should be eating this crap. And I walked away, sad and with saccharin-laced caffeine coursing through my veins.
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