Picture the scene... Me, frantically charging between meetings - barely having time to grab a snack between engagements. I approach the vending machine with $2 in my sweaty palm, insert the coin and reach for 'A' and then '2', a habit that's ingrained in my muscle-memory so firmly I could do the manoeuvre blindfolded. But then it happens: where the fu(k are the Honey Baked Ham Kettle chips?! PANIC! The very snack that tipped the balance into invsting in my citizenship no less! The tasy, crispy slices of fried root crop (unbelievably MSG-free) that has sustained me through 10 years of life here had been replaced by some INFERIOR impostor!
I'm sure by now you are beginning to understand the depths of my grief. The psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross introduced the 5 stages of grief back in the late 60s - I believe you'd be familiar with the concept even if you'd never faced them in such a confronting manner. At first I was in Denial ("surely a packet's been placed in the wrong slot?"). Then Anger ("grrrrr"), Bargaining ("I'll buy ALL the snacks that might be in the way of my rightful purchase") and now Depression ("sob" etc). Some day I hope to move on to acceptance, but I fear I may have to look for gainful employment elsewhere before that blissful day arrives.
Therefore, I beseech you, in respect of the world's natural order, to campaign to whoever decides which products grace the "snack altar" (as it is known in certain circles in the company) in favour of Honey Baked Ham Kettle Chips. Sure, they may even double the price, but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.
Yours hopefully,
Aidan
