When Marisa first offered me the job of Food Editor, lo those many weeks ago, I rubbed my hands together and chuckled evilly. “The power! The influence!” I thought to myself. “The free food!”
Yes, I could just picture it: Albuquerque’s restauranteurs quivering in fear at the clacking of my keyboard and sending nervous, obsequious emissaries to deliver piping hot gourmet meals to my desk every lunch time in the hope of avoiding my wrath. Oh, I would be so very corrupt, and so very well fed.
But Marisa, with her ridiculous “ethics” and nonsensical “sense of fair play” quickly disabused me of that idea. There would be no gifts, no bribery. I was, in fact, supposed to remain as anonymous as possible so that my reviews could be objective and based on the experience of the typical diner. I choked back a sob as my dreams of a graft-fattened future evaporated.
Finally, someone was trying to bribe me! With spooky treats! And tasty eats!
For one brief moment this morning, however, those crooked visions returned. I came in to my office, and there on my desk sat a box. A black box from McCormick & Co. with a photograph of day-glo colored cookies on it and the text “Spooky Treats. Tasty Eats,” written below. Finally, someone was trying to bribe me! With spooky treats! And tasty eats!
After a brief glance out into the hallway to make sure that Marisa and her damnable moral compass weren’t around, I cackled triumphantly and tore the package open.
And stared bewildered at what lay inside. There were no cookies. There were no spooky treats, nor tasty eats.
Instead, nestled in orange packing material were three boxes. Of food coloring. Let me repeat. Three boxes. Of food coloring.
I cried for an hour.
So, let me say to you, McCormick & Co., manufacturers of such fine products as McCormick Brand Vanilla Extract and McCormick Brand Fajita Seasoning: I may very well be susceptible to bribery, but this piss poor effort embarrasses us both.