Popcorners: a memoir

Random Rambling.

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I typically don’t convey essay-like forms about a bag of chips, but I just felt like it, seeing that I became overly opinionated on a bumpy flight.

I fly JetBlue because of the sea salt popcorn and rice cake hybrid known as Popcorners. The 140-calorie shiny bag houses the perfect amount of crunch and sodium, so you feel dehydrated enough to chug a small water, while wishing you could guzzle a Moscow Mule instead. I don’t think that makes sense out loud, but it does in my head.

Which reminds me, how has the realm of moustached, bearded, tattooed, suspender-clad, spectacled, cold brew Brooklynites not instilled their aromatic bitters and earthly herbs to cater those in the clouds? Someone needs to get on that stat. The practically undrinkable mini bottles of misery in a bottle of cab are almost as appealing as having to engage in an ISIS debacle on an…interesting JSwipe date. (This happened a few months back. Resulted in 5 rounds of Handsome Bucks at Little Branch. I focused on the spicy ginger and forgot about homeboy’s political rant on Netanyahu and the likes.) but then I saw John Legend and Chrissy Teigen glowing and cuddling in a corner booth at Blue Ribbon Sushi on part 2 of said date and decided delving into the Islamic state wasn’t the worst thing in life.

As per usual, I don’t have a point. There was a shitload of near-death turbulence on this flight. The 55-year-old, graying, athletic dad to my left stopped paying his Chase bills and started nonchalantly hyperventilating. I was wondering if this is what happens when you defy the Jewish holidays and decide to fly on Passover.

Then, I decided how glad I was for indulging in three servings of Momofuku Milk bar (birthday cake truffles change lives) dessert last night. I also wondered if I was going to get the opportunity to eat my Popcorners before anything scary went down. Current state: turbulence has settled down, snacks are yet to be passed out.

Just kidding, I spy a white ironed short topped off with a navy vest, red tie, and ultra-toothy generic, dentist-waiting-room-office-pamphlet-smile holding a basket of gold. Aka I can’t see from here so if Popcorners are not in storage, I’m going to flip 5 shits and revert to heavy metal for the remainder of this flight. Just kidding. My sleepy Matchbox Twenty playlist is in too deep, and Goo Goo Dolls just came on so there definitely ain’t no Marilyn Manson-esque vocals tuning into my waxy earphones at present. Woo, that’s adorable.

I kid you not, when the man who resembled The Rock, in that his head looked smoother than a baby’s ass lathered in oil, nodded at me to inquire about my snack of choice, he informed me that the woman in front of me (skinny bitch of 14E) took the last pack, but he would grab another for me right away.

It was the perfect chance to take this as a sign, because I’m currently full and half-asleep, and skip on the unnecessary snack. But I’m Jewish and have food Fomo so the prospect of not succumbing to free food is a foreign concept, kind of like playing trivia on the the whereabouts of the Obama administration. If the subject were ancient grains, I would probably revive my ancestors from the grave with my knowledge on quinoa, kamut, wheat berries and Farro. I could name drop amaranth, spelt and shit, I don’t know, maybe pink Himalayan sea salt, but that sounds excessive.

So whatever, I got my very own kettle bag of Popcorners. I felt very much like trying a spicy crunchy tuna roll with avocado and eel sauce for the first time. You just want more and more and can’t stop won’t stop until your brother swaps out the little morsel of avocado for its twin, wasabi. Than its game over. So it was all really exciting, just like the tuna, but instead of calling it quits because of traumatic experiences, I just finished the bag. And crumbs.

Also, gray haired dad not only bought wifi, fine, but he’s manhandling his computer screen with his fingers, as if it were an iPad, and it actually looks like it’s scrolling but i don’t know. I should stop keeping tabs on his Chase mortgage, Pearl Jam playlist, and ESPN stalking. I have nowhere else to look though. MER.

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