Oh yes ’tis.

So I thought it would only be fitting to share a story about one of my Christmas shopping experiences.

Before I begin, let me hit you with a little background:

A friend of mine (Garrett) and I have a tradition of exchanging gifts on Christmas/Chanukah and our birthdays.

You’re probably thinking, Yeah, you and every other friend in the world.

Well you’re wrong.

Most of the guys you know don’t give gifts to their friends on holidays. (They/We)’re too lazy.

But Garrett and I decided three or four years ago that we would exchange gifts. Sometimes, your friends know you (and what you really want) better than your family does.

And that makes for good gifts.

End background.

A few weeks ago while we were watching TV, an infomercial for Snuggies came on. Garrett idly mentioned that he wanted one of the ridiculous blanket-robes.

Being the good friend that I am, I made a mental note of Garrett’s desire and chuckled at how horrible he would look wearing a robe-lanket.

A few days ago, I saw the infomercial on TV and remembered my mental note (is that redundant?).

I picked up the phone, and dialed the 1-800 number. I’ve never ordered something off an infomercial so I had no idea what to expect.

The Snuggie is listed on the commercial as “Buy one, get one free for $19.95.”

Well guess what, it’s not that simple.

I have to say, the automated operator was very polite and sounded sweet…

…but she’s a sneaky b*&ch.

Let’s call her Kelli.

And I should’ve known because I never trust girls that substitute an ‘i’ for a ‘y’ in their name. But like I said, she sounded sweet.

The first thing she did was ask how many Snuggies I wanted. So I sat there, staring at my phone thinking…

Well I want two. But the second one is supposed to be free. So do I order one Snuggie or two…?

Realizing that I may be in for more than I bargained, I cautiously pressed ‘one’.

Kelli informed me that I’d ordered one Snuggie and that my second one would be included free.

Nice, I thought. (Pomer – 1, Kelli – 0).

Then, Kelli went on to offer me a bunch of “limited time special offers.”

I sidestepped most of them but couldn’t resist upgrading to the Deluxe Snuggie which is 50% thicker and has pockets for only $5.

What’s a Snuggie without pockets? I thought.

Finally, after giving them my credit card number, name and billing address, Kelli informed me:

“Thank you your order will arrive in 2-6 weeks.”

Click

No total cost. No conformation email. Nothing.

And by the way, it’s not getting here by Christmas…

I thought that was a little fishy so I got online and did some research to find some other people’s experiences. Here are some of my favorite quotes:

- “You call the customer service number on their site and it rings once and then they hang up on you.”

- “I placed an order of two blankets… Guess what, the total is $132.55. They charged $47.70 for shipping.”

- “They ask if you would like to upgrade to a more plush Snuggie (the Deluxe one). When you say yes you end up buying 2 getting 2 free.”

I quickly realized that something was not right. In fact, it might even be wrong.

I did some mental calculations (on my calculator) and figured out that I’d actually ordered:

- 1 Basic Snuggie: $27.90 ($19.95 + $7.95 S/H)
- 1 ‘Free’ Basic Snuggie: $7.95 S/H
- 1 Deluxe Snuggie: $32.90 ($19.95 + $5.00 pockets + $7.95 S/H)
- 1 ‘Free’ Deluxe Snuggie: $12.95 ($5.00 pockets + $7.95 S/H)

For those of you keeping track, I think that brings the score to something like…

Pomer – 1, Kelli – 81.70

Gulp

I’ll be giving Garrett his gift as planned and I decided to keep the second deluxe one…

But I don’t really have the kind of money to spend $80 on a blanket with sleeves so if any of you do and are interested in the pocket-less variety, let me know.

It would make a great Valentine’s or Easter gift. I’m not sure exactly when it’s going to arrive but I’ll be sure to let you all know when it does.

 I think there’s a lesson in here somewhere and since it’s Christmas, I’ll try to break it down…

Anne Frank once said, “No one has ever become poor by giving.”

She was wrong.

UPDATE: A friend, Eric, just sent me this relevant article by Time on Snuggies. 

For college kids, Christmas/Chanukah/Winter break is a time for relaxation.

Sure, you may work a couple hours a week at your old job for some present-buying cash flow but there are no papers, no projects, and no exams.

And if you’re anything like me, CCW break is a period where you have a lot of free time but feel like you deserve to not spend it doing something you have to.

Break is you time.

Do something you want to do. Read a book that has nothing to do with anything.

Did you never get around to the last Harry Potter book? Is there a new Star Wars book out? Is Gossip Girls your guilty pleasure?

Read it. Who cares?

You know I don’t.

Besides, I’ve read every HP book thrice, I know more Star Wars history then American history, and I knocked out all the Gossip Girls novels (yes, “novels”) three summers ago.

So instead of reading, last Saturday, four friends and I decided over dinner to devote our time to something arguably more worthless…

Starting a new weekly TV drama.

After much deliberation, we narrowed the field down to Lost and Heroes.

The voting was fierce:

We debated the pros and cons of each show, my friend Chris attempted a filibuster by eating only one fry every 5 minutes, and I had to give up shotgun in his car for a month to get him to reconsider.

When we finally voted, Heroes won and Lost well… you get the idea.

(Heroes – 3, Lost – 2)

So after dinner, we all went to Blockbuster and picked up the first season and Saturday at 11pm, we began the first episode.

Note:
I have a very addictive personality. I don’t believe in doing something half-way. I don’t even believe in doing something the whole way.

If you start something, you should do it to the extreme.

And at 6:30pm last night, three of us finished the first season.

I did some calculations and figured out that during those 43 hours, I’d spent…

22 hours watching Heroes, 14 hours sleeping, and 7 hours doing everything else.

I broke it down further below:

I told that story to a few people last night and each said, “Wow, what a waste.”

So I began to question my decision:
- Did I really need to watch a show until 7am two nights in a row? – No.

- Did I enjoy every second of the show? – No, I was horribly scared most of the time.

- Does my back hurt from sitting down for so many straight hours? – Yes.

- Do I see scenes from the TV show every time that I close my eyes? – Yes.

- Do I need to shower? – God Yes.

- What does waste really mean? – To consume or spend without adequate return.

- Oh, well did I get a decent story out of it? - Umm sure, why not.

Well then it’s not a waste.

A waste would be doing something that I wouldn’t remember a month from now or that I could easily do again in a year or two.

Now that I think about it, I can’t imagine anything more worthwhile…

…except maybe this.

A friend of mine wrote a blog post today about the frustrations of haircuts and it got me thinking (about haircuts).

After 2-3 hours of thought, I realized that while haircuts can be frustrating, they can also provide an opportunity for a little fun.

I know, I know. What do you know about haircuts? You don’t have any hair.

Well guess what… It wasn’t always that way. I used to have hair and I’m trying desperately to grow it back. So stop hating.

Besides, I have plenty of friends who’ve gotten haircuts before.

And in my experience, girls and guys have very different views of/responses to haircuts.

Lets start with responses why don’t we…

What?

You want views first? Really? Are you sure?

I’m telling you, responses would make a better intro…

Fine. If you insist…

Views of a haircut:
When a girl gets a haircut, it’s not just a haircut. It’s an event. It’s an experience.

She plans it months (maybe even years) in advance and when the day arrives, she wakes up early, gets dressed up and puts on makeup.

She even does her hair.

Which makes no sense.

I asked a friend of mine last week why she was fixing up her hair to go to the barbershop (or is it salon?).

She began explaining something about how “it’s like cleaning your house for the cleaning lady but with hair.”

I don’t get that either so I just nodded slowly and let it slide.

For guys, a haircut is a haircut.

Here’s how it goes:

One day, a guy looks himself in the mirror and says, “Man, I need a haircut.”

Then, he walks over to the closest barber, sits down and gets his hair cut.

End of story.

You ready for responses now? You ready?

Good.

Responses to a haircut:
A girl never gets a good haircut. The hairdresser/stylist/designer always cuts it too short.

Does this sound familiar?

“I told her to take off two inches! Two! And she went on a cutting frenzy! I didn’t even have a choice. She just put the scissors to my hair and then chopped it all off!”

I thought it might.

When she gets back though, everyone who sees her had better recognize that she got a haircut the right way or they’re in trouble.

Allow me to illustrate three settings where I did NOT recognize a girl’s haircut the right way:

Setting 1:
Girl friend 1 (note the space) got two inches of her hair trimmed off but I didn’t realize because her hair was 14 inches long before and a two-inch difference wasn’t enough to recognize.

I spent the next two hours trying to figure out why she was treating me like I killed her cat.

Finally, when she went to the bathroom, her friend asked me,

“Why haven’t you said anything about her haircut…?”

And it all made sense.

I mumbled something about how “I thought she looked especially good today but couldn’t figure out what it was” and though I don’t think she believed me, at least I had some kind of excuse.

Setting 2:
I immediately realized that G F 2 had gotten a haircut because, as she would later complain, the hairdresser cut off way too much.

I was so caught off guard by her hair’s lack of length that I panicked and asked, “Did you get your haircut?” She bitterly responded, “Does it look like I got my haircut?”

We then sat in silence while I tried to think of an excuse to leave.

After five minutes, I blurted out something about needing to change my tire and ran out the door crying.

Setting 3:

Me: “Did you get your haircut today?”
G F 3: “No”
Me: “Oh”

End Settings.

Guys don’t ever get good haircuts either. But they also don’t get bad ones.

That’s because for guys, a haircut is just not that big of a deal.

And as a result, most guys don’t care if someone does or doesn’t notice a recent haircut.

But that’s most guys.

I care a lot.

In fact, my goal when I get a haircut is for nobody to know that I got a haircut.

Let me rewind real quick:

Until this year, in college I’ve been buzzing my head. It’s cheaper, easier and makes it harder for people to tell that I have a rapidly receding hairline.

This year however, I decided it was time to grow my hair out again and as a result, I’ve had to go back to the barbershop.

Play.

When I go to the barber, I intentionally do NOT tell anyone.

In fact, I usually make it a point to tell a bunch of people that I’m doing somethingother than getting a haircut.

Why? You ask…

Because I play a little game whenever I get my haircut.

It’s called, Wow, I really thought he got his hair cut. I guess I was wrong. It usually works something like this:

The Scene:

I get my haircut without telling anyone. I get almost nothing cut off, just enough to clean things up a bit. I see a friend of mine and we begin talking…

Action:

Friend: “Hey man.”
Me: “Hey.”

(Idle conversation goes on for a few minutes…)

Friend: “Did you get your hair cut?”
Me: “No… Why?”
Friend: “I don’t know, something just looks different…”
Me: “Really? Yeah, no haircut for me.”
Friend: “…are you sure?”
Me: “Uh…yeah. I think I’d know if I got my hair cut…”
Friend: “I guess so… Oh well.”

(The conversation goes on for a while. We go our separate ways. Later on, Friendruns into Another Friend.)

Friend: “Hey man.”
Another Friend: “Hey…”

(More conversation, blah blah blah…)

Friend: “Did Pomer get his haircut?”
Another Friend: “I think he went to refill the ink cartridges in his printer but I don’t know anything about a haircut.”
Friend: “Wow, I really thought he got his hair cut. I guess I was wrong.”

(Pomer – 1, Friend – 0)

I don’t know about you but I feel like I’m always running out of toothpaste.

Not in the beginning I guess. When you buy a fresh tube of toothpaste, you get that invincible feeling. It’s like a full tank of gas, an empty laundry bin, or a box of q-tips from Costco. You’re on top of the world and it’s never going to end.

Well it does end.

And with toothpaste, it starts ending earlier than you think.

About a week into a toothpaste tube, it has transgressed from a beautiful, flawless cylinder and begins taking that flat, deflated look.

After another week, you begin considering getting a fresh tube even though you know if you really work at it, you can make the one you have last one, maybe two more months.

So for the next two months, every morning, you wake up and in addition to preparing to face the day, you also have to do battle with your toothpaste.

The tube’s last week is the worst. The battles are fierce, bordering on epic. And each day’s victory is more uncertain than the one before it.

And eventually the day comes where you lose. You simply can’t muscle out a single drop of mouth-cleansing glory.

For me, that day was today.

I woke up, like most mornings, dazed and inexplicably angry.

Gathering my Old Spice Body Wash, Sexed-Up Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste, I headed to the shower.

When I got there, I mentally prepared for the upcoming tube duel and then after 20 seconds or so, made the first strike.

Earlier in the week, I’d begun using the slide-against-the-edge-of-the-counter method to great success so I began with that tried-and-true method.

No dice.

I stepped back, caught my breath and, vowing to get a new tube today, went to my ace in the hole.

I cracked my fingers, stretched my forearms and then pressed my thumbs against the backside of the opening, pushing with all my might.

Within 15 seconds, my thumbs began cramping. In 30 seconds, I was covered in sweat. When a minute passed, I’d almost fainted.

As the minute and-a-half mark was rapidly approaching, I gave up.

Toothpaste – 1, Pomer – 0.

Defeated, I turned to a friend of mine who was also in the bathroom and asked to borrow some of his toothpaste.

He said “Sure” and handed me this…

What the hell?

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no neat freak. Far from it.

And I’m not saying you need keep your toothpaste rolled up with a chip clip like my grandmother does…

But what the hell?

What happened?

Did my friend not ever put the top back on the toothpaste when he was done?

Did he not use a toothbrush at all and just rub the toothpaste on his teeth, directly from the tube?

I have no idea.

But I didn’t ask. I had to use the toothpaste. And at that point, I just didn’t want to know.

Taking a deep breath, I held my nose, squeezed out a crusty-minty blend and did the deed.

When I finished, I considered throwing up but decided not to when I realized I’d have to brush my teeth again.

All in all, it was a horrible experience and one I hope I never have to endure again. As soon as I finish this blog post, I’m going to CVS and spending at least $20 on toothpaste tubes.

And if you’re in the last week of your war against toothpaste, I suggest you do the same…

My last post was about doing things you’ve never done before and how it may change your life for the better.

Well sometimes it doesn’t.

Tonight was shaping up to be a great night. I’d already been to the driving range, gone on a run, had a great dinner (Japanese), and my friends and I had decided to rent the new Batman Movie before shifting back into exam-week gear.

Two friends and I drove to the nearest Blockbuster to pick it up only to realize after 15 minutes of searching that it doesn’t come out on DVD until December 9th.

After spending 20 more minutes arguing over what to get instead (I even called a third party to offer some insight), we gave up and decided to just see what was On Demand.

Half an hour ago, my friends decided to see The Strangers, the scary movie of this past summer.

They asked if I wanted to join them and as much as I love spending time/watching movies with my friends, I was forced to decline…

…and here’s why:

This summer, knowing that I’m easily scared, a girl invited me to see The Strangers in the theater. I think it was some poorly planned, twisted form of flirting.

I initially declined but when she offered to pay (making it officially a date), I obliged.

Now, I don’t see scary movies. I freak out enough as it is during the darker parts of movies like Signs, The Bourne Identity, James and Giant Peach, Fantasia and Step Up 2.

So I made a conscious decision when I was 12 never to see a movie that’s advertised as ’scary’.

Until The Strangers.

I didn’t go into the movie blind though. No, no. I was smarter than that.

I read all the spoilers and knew all the plot turns. I knew every time something popped out or someone died. I knew it all.

I knew it so well that I went into the theater with something resembling confidence.

I even had grandiose visions of her being more frightened and surprised than me. She’d have to curl up next to me and I could be the strong, confident man to protect her from anything that might actually come out of the screen and endanger her.

Then the movie started and all my something-resembling-confidence dissolved into the opening song.

I immediately started shaking and when I tried to cover my eyes or ears (or both), the girl found it inexplicably hilarious and forced me to stop.

She kept this up until around halfway through the movie when she realized that I had begun crying…

At that point she pretty much stopped acknowledging me and just focused on the movie.

After the movie, we avoided talking about what happened at all (especially the crying) and conversation, as you might guess, was forced.

I drove her home and after I dropped her off, texted some sort of awkward apology.

Needless to say, she did not text back.

So right now, while all my friends are pretending to enjoy The Strangers, I’m here with you, my real friends.

Thank you for understanding.

UPDATE: They just started Happy Feet. I think I can handle that one. See y’all later.

I say it all the time and rarely do I find myself actually doing it.

Skydiving. Surfing. Horse-back riding. Sex (just kidding Mom).

But maybe the thing I’ve most wanted to do but never done is go to the laundry mat/bar in Carrboro.

What a cool concept I thought, I hate waiting for my laundry to finish. But I love watching sports and having a drink.

At Super Suds, you can do both. (No, they did not paid me to say that.)

And every time I went to the Food Lion next to Super Suds, I’d say to the person (male) I was with, “Man, I’ve always wanted to do that…”

Until today…

…when I did that.

Before I launch into a long and drawn out tale though, let me give you a bit of background.

Bit of background:

I hate doing laundry (if you don’t agree, please let me know and maybe we can strike a bargain). It’s the same thing every time and it takes forever. You dread it all day and when you finally decide to suck it up and do the damn thing, you’re best friend asks you if you want to go to see that new Bond movie.

You of course cannot and instead go back to loading everything into the washer. Then, after sitting around for 30 minutes, you go back to change everything into the dryer only to realize that you forgot to load that one dirty sock, craftily hidden beneath the dryer sheets.

Now you may be thinking, So What? It’s one sock? You have plenty. Just wash it next time.

Well it’s not one sock. It’s bigger than one sock.

I know, you’re thinking again:

It’s two socks because you can’t wear its matching sock, right?

Wrong. I solved that problem a long time ago. But more on that later…

The only good thing about doing laundry is finishing doing laundry.

I can’t begin to describe the feeling of accomplishment I get when I gaze into a perfectly empty laundry bin…

So clean. So pure. So natural. And I don’t have to do laundry again for two/two-and-a half weeks…

But that one sock. That one effing sock. It ruins everything. And the accomplishment is replaced with frustration, regret and maybe even doom, leaving nothing but a deeper dread of doing laundry the next time, and the next, and the next…

End B.O. Background. (Pun semi-intended)

So when I finally decided to do it and make the trip to Super Suds, because I can’t do anything by myself, I sent an email to my Fraternity listserv begging someone to come with me.

I masked the selfish, pathetic invitation with something like, “We spend too much time having the same shallow conversations over and over again. How are we ever going to get to actually know each other if we can’t talk about important issues, who we are and what we believe in? Well here’s an opportunity for me and one of you to spend some quality time together. Call me if you have a couple free hours this afternoon and want to just hang out and chat…”

Luckily for me, someone fell for it, a guy named Daniel.

So I picked up Daniel, laundry in hand, and we headed to Super Suds.

When we got there, we were overwhelmed.

In the foreground were hundreds, maybe thousands of washers and dryers spinning complacently, rumbling softly, like the purr of a kitten. In the background was a full bar complete with TVs, vintage Pacman arcades and pool tables.

I quickly exchanged a $20 bill for quarters, threw my laundry into four washers and headed to the background…

There, Daniel and I caught the second half of the Duke-Michigan game, had a drink and discussed life. All three were great.

When the basketball game ended, I went to check on my laundry only to see it waiting to be switched to the dryer.

As I began scooping the first batch from the washer and loading into the dryer, I glanced over at my laundry bin and saw that (bleep)ing sock almost-hidden beneath it.

I muttered a few words that I will have to repent for next Yom Kippur and grudgingly went back to scooping and loading.

When I was done, I angrily walked back to the background and tried to explain the sock situation to Daniel.

He didn’t understand but offered to buy the first round of pool and I felt a little better.

After four games, I went back to the foreground to check on my laundry and again, found it dry and waiting to be folded.

And that’s when it hit me.

Super Suds is the answer. When I’m at Super Suds, I don’t wait on laundry. Laundry waits on me.

I was thrilled. I tried to explain my discovery to Daniel and again he didn’t get it.

But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I no longer have to fear doing laundry.

I unloaded the clothes onto a table and began folding with an energy that I haven’t felt since my Mom did my laundry for me.

Everything went perfectly. None of the shirts were inside out, the pants folded at the seams on the first try and the socks well, let me tell you about the socks…

When I came to college, I made what I believe is the best decision of my life. I threw away all my socks…

…and bought 50 of the same sock.

Everyone hates matching socks. It takes forever and when you finish, there’s always 5-10 unmatchable socks and you wonder, Where the hell are all the other socks? Then, if you’ve got some spare time, you start fishing in your pants pockets hoping to find a single, matchable sock to no avail. Then you look at that one dirty sock you forgot to wash and think about how it’s going to be another two weeks at best until you can wear that pair.

All in all, very stressful.

But that’s you.

I never have more than one leftover sock because all my socks are the same. I know.Genius.

Anyway, once I’d folded the shirts, pants and unmentionables (do guys call/not mention them that?), Daniel walked and I trotted to the car.

We got in, realized it was near dinner time, unanimously voted to go to Wendy’s and drove off into the sunset…

As my time in college is coming to an end, I think it’s important to actually do the things I’ve always wanted to do. Who knows if you’ll be able to next year and it may even change your life.

I know it did mine today…

It’s great. You can now watch TV on your computer, find the answer to any question with a few clicks of a button, or identify a song’s title and artist by holding your phone to the speaker.

But sometimes, it’s not so great.

Sometimes, it’s miserable.

I woke up this morning ready to take on the world. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the squirrels were scrambling around desperately trying to store enough food so they don’t starve this winter.

Life was good…

…and then I sent a text message…

…to a girl.

And everything went dark.

There’s just something binding about a text message. When you call someone on the phone, when she doesn’t answer, you can always not leave a voicemail to keep her guessing. With texting though, you might as well preface each text with, “I want to talk to you now and here’s why…”

That’s why it’s so stressful when she doesn’t reply immediately. And if you’re anything like me, she rarely does.

And here’s the thing, it’s not like I’m in love with the girl I texted today. She changed her major to advertising, wanted to talk to me about it, I told her I’d let her know when I was free, end of story.

Yet, I still checked my phone every four minutes for the next three hours and every time I saw no missed calls and no new texts, I got that sinking feeling deep in my stomach, you know, just below the rib cage.

Each time I looked at my phone, for some reason, I thought you know what, this is it. This time she’ll have responded. And each time I looked at my phone, that feeling sank just a little bit deeper.

As more and more time passed since my initial text, I began the doubting stage: Did I phrase the question wrong? Should I have called instead? Was it too long? Was it too short? Did I type “hand” instead of “game”? What was I wearing the last time she saw me? Oh no, it was the new shirt my mom got me that I promised I’d wear. I knew I shouldn’t have worn that damn shirt. Why did you wear the shirt? Why?

And then just as I’d resigned myself to the fact that I simply wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep tonight…

She responded.

And like an idiot, I immediately replied back…

…and it started all over.

That’s how my life is everyday I send a text.

Well you know what, tomorrow I’m sticking to email. So if you’re reading this and are considering texting me (unlikely), don’t consider it.

Because if you do, you’re gonna have that sinking feeling…

…not me.

Elizabeth Arden once said, “Nothing that costs only a dollar is not worth having.”

And I agree with her. That’s why I love the dollar menu at Wendy’s.

Up until about two months ago, every time I went to Wendy’s though, I had the following mental debate/experience:

Alright, I obviously need fries and a drink, now the question is How many Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers (Chee’s) do I want? Two or three… two or three… two or… Oh what the hell, it’s only a dollar.

Then I’d sit down and start plowing away at my food, proud that I’d ordered more than any of my friends. After scarfing down the fries and Chee #1, I’d confidently stroll over to the cashier and ask for a refill of my Coke Zero (keeping it healthy).

Note: Before college, I ordered regular Coke. Those were the Diet Coke days, the ones before Coke Zero. But there’s something about Coke Zero that’s just barely masculine enough to justify ordering. (After doing some research, it turns out that Coke Zero is marketed to adult males by using “Calorie Free” instead of “Diet” since guys associate diet drink with girls. Coke – 1, Pomer – 0)

After getting my refill, I’d head back to the table and begin Chee #2. About half-way through, I’d realize that I’d ordered way too much food and start sweating profusely. As my bites got smaller and smaller, I’d begin glancing up to check my friends’ progress on their dinner. After recognizing that each was almost finished with his food, I’d look down despairingly at my still-wrapped Chee #3 and see my meal-finishing dreams slipping through my greasy fingers.

In the next 10 minutes, I’d painstakingly finish Chee #2, unwrap Chee #3, take one barely noticeable nibble, and throw the rest down in frustration. After announcing my resignation to my friends, they’d look down at my near-full Chee, smirk, and we’d make our way to the trash can and then out the door.

But that was two months ago; I’ve evolved since then.

In September, I stumbled onto an amazing opportunity for almost no cost.

I went to Wendy’s and while trying to determine how many dollar-menu items to get, decided against ordering three Jr. Bacon Chee’s…

Instead, I ordered four.

Now I know what you’re thinking: You’re an idiot. You just spent 5 four-sentence-or-less paragraphs explaining how you can’t handle 3 JBCs. How can you even imagine finishing four?

And you’re right. But that’s the point.

By ordering far more than I can possibly fathom finishing, I eliminate any false hope of success and as a result, I don’t feel bad taking my food home.

In fact, I look forward to it.

Do you know how comforting is it knowing that you always have a Chee waiting for you in your refrigerator? I doubt it, but you (sh/c)ould, for just $1.

If you’re sold on my suggestion, you can stop reading. But if you’re the hard-to-persuade type and need some real-world examples of how valuable an extra Chee is, read on.

Real World Examples (True Stories):

1. Setting: The Undergraduate Library at 1am.

Me: “Hey man, do you happen to have any extra notecards? I need to make flashcards for my Sports Marketing exam tomorrow.”
Random Male Student: (dismissively) “I’ve got a few, but I sort of need them.”
Me: (reaching into my backpack) “I’ll trade you for a Jr. Bacon Chee…”
Random Male Student: “Are you serious?”
Me: “Oh yeah.”
Random Male Student: (excitedly handing over a pack of notecards) “Okay!”

Note: One pack of 3×5 notecards costs $1.19. For you non-math people, that’s 19% more than a $1 JBC.

2. Setting: My Marketing Class

Cute Girl Next To Me: (To herself) “Gosh, I’m hungry, I haven’t eaten all day.”
Me: “Do you want a Jr. Bacon Chee?”
Cute Girl Next To Me: “Oh no, I couldn’t take that from you.”
Me: “Oh no, it’s fine, I always order an extra.”
Cute Girl Next To Me: (confused) “Are you serious?”
Me: (confidently) “Yeah, you never know when you’re gonna need one…”
Cute Girl Next To Me: (hesitantly) “Well I’m sort of on a diet…”
Me: “That’s okay, you can have some of my Coke Zero; It’s healthy.” (wink)
Cute Girl Next To Me: “Haha, okay, thanks, that’s really sweet of you.”
Me: “No problem.”

Note: Coke – 1, Pomer – 1.

3. Setting: A Job Interview with New Media Campaigns

One Of The Interviewers: “What do you think you can do for us… (blah, blah, blah)”
Me: “Well I think I can… (blah, blah, blog)”
Other Interviewer: (uninterested) “I’m starving, I think I’m going to grab some food.”
Me: “Do you want a Jr. Bacon Chee?”
Other Interviewer: (interested) “Really?”
Me: “Yeah, I always get an extra one…”
Other Interviewer: (mouth full) “Wow, that’s pretty cool…”

Note: I got the job.

End Real World Examples.

Give it a try. It’s $1. I promise you, it’s worth (more than) it.