I have noticed (and I am guilty of this as well), that eveyrone looks at their reflection when they have the opportunity. Whether it is an actual mirror or even just a large reflecting window they are walking past.
1) Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who is the fairest one of all?
We chant that from age 4. And, with each chant, we hope…and hope…that the mirror will whisper back our name, revealing back to us, our shining portrait. So every chance we get, every reflection we spot, we look at it longingly, yearning for the “fairest” title
2) Perfection is the Key to Success.
Barbie told us that if we are perfect, we can be like her and make millions of dollars for millions of years. But the truth is, perfection is not the key to success. Success is the key to perfection (to a degree, depending on your definition of success). Because we strive to be perfect, we are constantly checking our image, making sure there are no flaws, so that whenever success is in front of us, we will be ready — ready to impress. Just like Barbie.
Wendy's New Menu: Mini Bacon Cheeseburgers and Shoelace Fries
Upon a sudden craving for meat, I tromped over to Wendy’s in the Union. Ordered what I always order.
“Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger and a small frries!” screamed the lady in a moderate Mexican-Spanish accent, giving the “r” in fries a short roll ‘n flip.
I took my small white Wendy’s bag, grabbed four yellow napkins, two packets of salt, two packets of pepper, and a small thing of ketchup.
I walked up the usual steps, to the fourth floor to sit at my usual table, in the usual chair. The usual people sat in their usual spots. No one even raised their head up or peeked over their book to see who was passing by. That’s how usual the fourth floor of the Union on a Tuesday is.
After putting down my bags, dusting salt and random specks off the table from the previous person, I sat down in the wooden chair, with the same thoughts that go through my head every Tuesday: “This is a really hard seat.”
Time to eat.
Reaching into my Wendy’s bag, I tore open the salt and pepper, quickly pouring it over the fries so that its heat would serve as an adhesive for the salt and pepper. I then pulled out my Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger and rolled up the top of the Wendy’s bag, still with the fries in it, so the fries could stay reasonably warm. Almost complete with my usual Wendy’s preparation ritual, I unwrapped my Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger to begin my first step of “eating.”
And there it was.
I stared back at a slightly deformed, sad-looking, half slanted, half smushed bun, with a smaller-than-fist size circle of meat (yes, circle, despite their current “square meat patty” campaign), a still wet leaf of lettuce, a peeking-out tomato slice, and mayonaise in the middle. It looked oddly small, and oddly hastily put together. I wrapped my hands around the sandwich, and found that my fingers met each other, and not only that, but my hands overwhelmed the sandwich. I let go of the sandwich with my left hand, and saw that even with just one hand holding my Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger, my hand looked menacing compared to the unusually small sandwich size.
Not wanting any more of the treasured heat of the sandwich to escape, I took a bite into it.
I stopped chewing.
I had never eaten half of a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger in one bite before. Something was unusual.
Wendy’s had downsized their Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger because it was in such high demand that they wanted to make more money by decreasing the unit cost of each one. The lettuce was wet because the workers were in such a hurry to meet the high demand of Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers that they did not have time to dry the lettuce. My sandwich was half squished, half slanted because of the now almost mandatory hasty speed the number of Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger orders demanded from the workers.
I moved onto my fries.
I unraveled the top of the bag and drew the saaaallllltttyyy fries out of the bag, and had a Mary Poppins moment. The fry was never-ending. I pulled and pulled and until finally I had pulled out almost a half foot long fry. This long dangly fry was droopy, and I tried to dip it in the ketchup. It proved near impossible. Holding it between my index finger and thumb, I felt as if I was a mother bird, dangling a worm for her baby chick, trying desperately to aim for its mouth, but failing miserably. Never in my life have I had to think about how to eat a french fry. My conclusion? I dipped my ketchup onto my fry.
As soon as the “dangly fry” reached my mouth, I reached for a short looking one. Pulled it out, and…kept pulling…and pulling. Another dangly fry!!??! What was wrong with these fries? Did Wendy’s not realize how difficult they were making fry-eating by making their fries longer? I could no longer shove them into my mouth the way I shove popcorn into my mouth. I now had to dangle the fry above my head, stick out my tongue and wait for the fry to touch the tip of my tongue, upon which I would lasso it in a quick motion to prevent the fry from falling, droopily onto my chin, leaving a shiny and attractive grease trail-goatee.
Something was unusual.
Wendy’s had obviously downsized their Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger, and to make up for it had obviously “long-sized” their french fries. Another simple economic equation? Was this supply and demand and costs and resources?
I could not stop thinking about the business reasoning behind the shrinking Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger and lengthening french fries act. Until finally, it dawned upon me…
EVERYONE knows: Cattle are more expensive than potatoes.