I turned my bag of chips upside down to evenly distribute the flavoring, and I think I’m finally ready to come to terms with my relationship with my father. I read online that when you turn the bag over it will take all the powder from the bottom and properly spread it on all the chips so you don’t have any chips with barely any barbecue flavoring, and I finally got around to doing it today, and oh boy, my father beat me because his father beat him not because he hated me for my sexuality! The chips were hella good too, but like, my husband was never able to forgive his father before he succumbed to lung cancer, so maybe I should, like, learn from that, you know? Maybe now I’ll buy more chips and probably visit my father more often. I never even really liked barbecue chips until now, so like, now a bag of chips and my father can finally watch my son grow up.
And I know what you’re going to say. “Mark, you always said the lack of flavoring on every other barbecue chip ruined your childhood. Does this really change that?” I understand my love for barbecue chips might go through a couple rough patches; I don’t expect it to be easy. Every once and awhile I might get a burnt one, or a broken one, or a slightly racist offhand remark one, and one day the bag of chips might say they’re going for a pack of smokes and never come back, sure. But I’m willing to at least try. Try to turn my bag of chips upside down more often, and try to be a better man, and try to finally get around to forgiving my father.
I visited him today, and asked him why when he went to buy those cigarettes he never came back. He told me, “Son, I bought a bag of chips, and the clerk at the counter told me to flip it over. I said, ‘Why, sir?’ and he said, ‘To evenly distribute the barbecue flavoring.’ And so I did it. Son, when I had the first bite, and then the second, then the third, then the fourth, and realized that they all had the same amount of barbecue flavor, I realized there was more to life. I regret it everyday, but I’m glad we can be on good terms again.” That’s right! The reason my father left me was because of that damn technique! The same technique that lead me back into his life. Oh, the irony of life and chips!
The humanity! When I was there he offered me a bag of Lays! We both locked eyes. I began to turn the bag over. He grabbed my hand. “No, son. That’s in the past,” and I said “FUCK YOU! YOU HAVEN’T LIVED UNTIL YOU’VE HAD EVERY CHIP WITH EQUAL AMOUNTS OF BARBECUE FLAVORING!” I can’t believe my father doesn’t turn his bags of chips over any more! Fuck him! Well, it’s time to move on, I guess. I read online that you can turn over boxes of cereal to evenly distribute the sugar powder, so I think I’m finally ready to track down my estranged mother.
Jon Forrest Allan is a writer and narcissist from Oregon. He likes writing bios and being meta in said bios. He also thinks being meta about being meta is endearing. He is wrong. Check out his Twitter and look inside the mind of a man who probably doesn’t know what the word “meta” means.
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