Edgy observations by someone who clearly needs to vent.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Things I Just Don't Understand: The Chalky Diner Mint
I’m a pretty bright guy. Not the smartest but not, say, Keanu Reeves. But there are certain things I will never understand. Like quantum physics, how to assemble furniture from Ikea, and the widespread appeal of George Lopez.
But this morning I discovered another small “nugget of life” that I just can’t comprehend:
The chalky diner mint.
I mean, I understand minty treats. Sure who doesn’t like the sweet little something that makes you smile and freshens your breath. But most of us have never met Kristin Chenoweth.
But the chalky diner mint, to me, doesn’t get the job done. As usual, I have several doubts and questions regarding subject, including but not limited to:
1. Why so chalky? I mean, I thought Milk Duds had the powdery treat market cornered (well the LEGAL powdery treat market). And when you are ready to bite into the chalky diner mint, it basically disappears like pixie dust in your mouth. Completely unsatisfying and, if the urban myth is true, Mikey from the Life cereal commercials, died that way.
2. What did you eat that you need a chalky diner mint? I mean, in the diner, I always play it safe.
Burger. Short stack of pancakes. Chicken noodle soup. If you’re having the beef stroganoff, the veal picatta, or ANYTHING with hollandaise sauce, your breath is the least of your problems. Your colon is about to unleash a fury you have only read about.
3. If your breath does stink, just buy gum.
4. If you need to grab a solid food with a spoon, you should know better. Soup? Sure. Cereal? Of course? A bowl of mints? Uh….I’ll pass. If you need to fish for a food like that “grab the stuffed animal” game in the diner lobby, you should just skip it.
5. EVERYONE else has touched the mints. The reason of course they have the spoon in the mints, or they place the mints in something in which Bingo numbers should be housed, is that everyone paws the mints. Old people. Married people. Little children. Single guys. Divorced women. Babies wearing diapers. Busboys. EVERYONE has touched the mints. If you want to suck the fingers of everyone who’s eaten at the diner this week, you go right ahead. (And if you do, please do not tell us about it. You sick bastard.)
Of course, the good compromise is the individually wrapped chalky diner mint. But it’s still a chalky diner mint. And it comes with unnecessary waste. I beg, I implore the diners of the world, to go to Walgreens and buy the big bag of Starlight mints. Get some Andes Candies. Even those Halloween-sized boxes of Milk Duds (if you can find them).
But please stop the madness. The chalky diner mint’s usefulness has long passed. Sometimes it’s not the first impression but the final memory that leaves the most lasting feelings. If you serve the bowl of chalky diner mints, I might be forced to eat elsewhere. Until of course I obsess about something else I do not understand. That shouldn’t take long.
I prefer to think of myself as a great thinker, a brilliant mind of my generation, but as soon as you type your thoughts, they label you a "writer," so OK I'm a writer!
When I do write, I have:
* Been a weekly humor columnist for The (Stamford) Advocate and Greenwich Time
* Had my weekly columns on the L.A. Times Syndicate
* Been a regular contributor to the Palm Beach Post
* Had freelance and Op-Ed columns published in The Daily News, The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Baltimore Sun, Newsday, L.A. Times, The Detroit News and probably your grandmother's beloved weekly newspaper
* Was weekly columnist for Tout Wars (experts fantasy baseball league)
* Contributed to ESPN The Magazine (My byline was not TOM The Writer)