I try to support our students with their fundraisers. If they ask, I will usually buy one of what they're selling. That's how I came to be in possession of some $15 popcorn.
When my seller delivered it this afternoon, I was surprised at its size. Not in the usual way I'm surprised by my fundraiser purchases. Like when I buy the cheapest candy in the catalog, and my $11 nets me a six-ounce box of chocolate-covered cashews because the sugar-free peanut butter cups I chose for Hick were not available. How kind of the company to substitute for me, rather than refund my money.
The popcorn was in a clear plastic tub. It certainly looked like the picture of what I ordered. Only larger. And it was not just any popcorn. Not the buttered, caramel, or cheese that I could get in a big Walmart tin for $10. Nope. This was gourmet popcorn. Chocolate-cherry flavored.
I stashed it away in my cabinet, lest the students get wind of my treat. They are not shy about demanding a taste of whatever they find. Kind of like army ants, they are, devouring everything in their path. I, myself, have not had a problem, because I am too wise to leave consumables in sight. Besides, I run a no-eat, no-drink classroom. It would not be polite to break my own rules. However, I hear tales of violations in other classrooms. Just last week, a student took a ring-pop off a teacher's desk and ate it. Why she had a ring-pop on her desk, I'm not sure. Last year, she had a student pick up her beverage and take a sip through the straw.
My hidden snack made it safely through the day. I sat down to watch TV tonight, and the sweet treat beckoned to me. My resulting tribulations kindled an idea for a new marketing plan. A way for the kids to sell many more tubs of $15 popcorn.
My plan was to pop the top off that bad boy and have a couple of clusters of chocolate-cherry popcorn. Val plans, popcorn laughs. I pried. I twisted. I stretched. I poked. That tub was not compliant with my appetite needs. It mocked me. So close. But so far from snagging my snack. I think I worked up a sweat there in my recliner, wrestling with that hermetically-sealed torture device. I could see the popcorn. Yet I could not get my hands on it. I finally grabbed a mechanical pencil from the end table and took a stab. My implement was not up to the task. I discarded it and snatched a pen. Fine point. That did the trick.
The first bite sent me spiraling into sugar shock. I might just as well have scheduled a late-night house call from a health professional and submitted to a maple syrup IV. I'm not so sure I didn't light out in a frenzied dash around the basement, putting to shame the antics of Aunt Polly's cat, Peter, when Tom dosed him with painkiller. The resulting crash after coming down from my blood glucose spike put me into a four-hour chair nap. That's some powerful popcorn.
I did not know the popcorn would be caramel corn. It was stuck together in blobs, coated with chocolate, drizzled with pink cherry stripes. I highly recommend breaking off one kernel of this confection at a time. It will satisfy your sweet tooth. No need to overdo it.
The student popcorn-pushers should advertise this item as a workout tool. It is so hard to open that many more calories will be expended than consumed if servings are limited to a single kernel per sitting. And just think, the labeling can advertise a thousand servings per container. A good selling point. I suggest they set up shop outside women's fitness centers. Just like the commercials for those tiny one-or-two-bite decadent cakey kind of treats, this gourmet popcorn would sell like hotcakes.
Of course, they didn't have any trouble selling it to me the regular way. But I'm a soft touch for kids trying to earn money to fly to FCCLA destinations.