Where’s The Ketchup?

Alright. The awful climate during the developing season influenced produce. Foods grown from the ground are more costly and, as I would see it, not as tasty. I don’t care for spinach, however it looks less scrumptious. Circumstances and logical results. Market interest. Ben and Jerry. Got it. For what reason is it called produce at any rate? Lettuce doesn’t “produce” anything. Mine sits in the cooler missing spinach and hanging tight for me to make a plate of mixed greens. I disdain cooking. It’s exhausting. Obviously, I might be treating it terribly. That is occurred previously. I’d be glad to notice you cooking whenever. That is the most ideal approach to learn.

In any case, I can live with dull apples; America, we have a really major problem! Would anyone be able to disclose to me the starting point of the current fixing emergency? What in hell happened to the salt and pepper supply? Do we have to bore for ketchup? It’s pandemic. (I never will utilize that word. I don’t have the foggiest idea what it implies.)

Genuine Conversation:

A jumbled voice welcomes me through an endured speaker. “Hi, welcome to Burgerama. May I take your request?”

“Indeed, I’d like a twofold cheeseburger, huge fry, and an eating routine Pepsi. Goodness, and a cut of chocolate pie. Gee, make that diet Pepsi a water all things being equal.”

“Alright, you need a chicken sandwich, onion rings, and lemonade.”

“No, I said a twofold cheeseburger, huge fry, chocolate pie, and cup of water.”

There’s a respite, static, at that point, “OK. Your all out is $19.95. If it’s not too much trouble, drive to the subsequent window.”

I pull forward while burrowing 80 quarters from my ashtray. I sit at the window for 20 minutes while the representatives laugh and do an exceptionally مايونيز هاينز unseemly form of the Electric Slide by the shake machine. I pay the drive-through woman. She grimaces at the coins, however appears to be support by the information that I’m most likely not a colorful artist. While she gradually checks five pennies again and again, I look at my request. Shockingly, it’s right. The fries are cold yet I support myself with the reality I wasn’t given onion rings like last time.

“Ma’am, may I have some ketchup and salt and pepper?” I ask as she tosses my change on the ground, missing my hand by two feet.

She grimaces again and asks, “Would you say you are returning home?”


“Don’t you have salt and pepper?”

“I do yet it doesn’t cost $40.00 per pound like this cheeseburger. I paid for minerals and fluid tomatoes. I need my salt, pepper, and ketchup.”

“Fine. Here’s one bundle of salt and one bundle of pepper. What number of parcels of ketchup do you need?”

“I have seven fries. I need seven parcels of ketchup.”

Burger woman shudders and murmurs, “That is too much. I’ll get terminated on the off chance that I give you more than two.”

“Alright. Give me two ketchup, a napkin, and a straw.”