Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Dear Oatmeal to Go Bars,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 27 year old breakfast enthusiast who enjoys practicality, the color neon , and children who's hair have been fashioned into a rat tail.
Last week I was hungry. It was early morning, and I knew I wasn't going to have time to feast on a lavish breakfast before I had to leave for work. Since I had about three minutes to get out of bed, get ready and get out the door, I thought to myself, Sarah Bertrand. What's something you can press down your throat like a pelican full of shame as you drag your disheveled unshowered self to the bus stop? Oatmeal to Go Bar! I frantically ripped the unopened box of bars out of my cupboard, tore into it, and peered inside. I was confused and horrified, Quaker. Allow me to set the scene: There was one bar that was already opened! Who opened my Oatmeal to Go Bar! Was it a mouse? Was it an unsatisfied Quaker prankster? Was it YOU?! Who! Obviously I discarded the aforementioned Oatmeal To OH NO Bar, and rifled through to see if there was anymore trickery my trembling hungry fingers might discover. There was not, so I selected a granola snack, and ran out the door.
As I was skeetering to the bus stop, I tore into my Oatmeal to Go bar, and was instantly greeted with the vile taste of disappointment, anxiety, a hint of oatmeal, and virtually no cinnamin. It's almost as if the cinnamin was tipped off at what was to be in store for him if he chose to remain an ingredient in a sub par batch of madness. I don't blame him for not wanting to waste his talents.
I'd also like to thank the diligent employee or rabid animal that you employed to eliminate the frustrating, time consuming chore of unwrapping my own breakfast selection.
Sidenote: On the list of ingredients, I noticed, "tree nuts" being included. What is a tree nut? An acorn? Are these being taken away from squirrels? Because I work at a pet store, and I do not support animal neglect.
My breakfast experience was compromised, Quaker, and I would appreciate a letter of apology, a new box of Quaker Oats and Honey bars, and a letter of apology to my mother, Joan Bertrand, who purchased the normally delicious treat for me. When she asked me how my granola bars were, all I could do was inhale deeply, look up at the sun, fight back the tears, and say, I love you mom. And that's all the breakfast I need.
I thank you for your time, and look forward to a prompt response.