I am writing to express my recent dissatisfaction with one of your products. Recently I purchased a 18 oz box of Kellogg’s Rice Krispies cereal. That would be the original formula; I’ve never been one for complicated Rice Krispies. It defeats the purpose of buying Rice Krispies. Regardless, my personal preference of toasted rice cereal is not germane to my issue.
Upon purchasing said box of cereal, I noted the following message on the front of the box: “INSIDE Walt Disney World Resort mini pal collectible”. As any parent with more than one child would attest to, those words sent shivers of pure terror up and down my spine. Immediately, I found myself concocting peace treaty-demanding scenarios in my head as a result of my kids catching on to the fact that there was a FREE TOY in their presence.
Oddly, they never noticed. A few days went by, and the dreaded box of Satan’s temptations sat untouched on my kitchen counter. That is, until tonight. It was not the kids who approached the box, but I, a grown woman who wanted a bowl of delicious, yet “gets soggy entirely too fast for the price they charge” cereal. As I lay my hands upon the blue box of promise, it dawned on me that there was a FREE TOY in my presence. A FREE TOY that had yet to be claimed by the children of the house. I employed the tried and true rule of “FIRST” and greedily opened the box of cereal. Now, I would like to think that in my 30 years of walking this planet that I had figured out the best way to retrieve free loot from breakfast sustenance. I’ve had the practice, after all. First, I removed the still-sealed plastic bag from the box, as most cereal companies have learned that putting a packaged item that’s been in contact with God knows what into intended food is rather disgusting. Eying the inside of the box returned only a recipe for Rice Krispies Treats (already know it, but thanks) and an order form for the mini pals. I looked back at the front of the box and confirmed that it was stated that a mini pal would be physically inside the box. It even says “Actual Item May Vary”, which roughly translates to “Don’t get your hopes up for Mickey. You’ll probably get Mater or Goofy.” The next step is a bag perimeter check. I swished and crunched the cereal in the sealed bag to determine the whereabouts of the mini pal, but my check yielded nothing. It was time to resort to the final step: arm submersion. You see, this is the last resort because a) one is sticking their body into food intended for consumption and b) it’s rather messy. But I was determined to get my mini pal. I had it all figured out in my head too. When my kids asked where the toy was, I would simply tell them that Kellogg’s forgot to put one in the box. Yes, I was willing to LIE to keep a FREE TOY. Re-read that line just so you realize how serious I am about free toys in my cereal.
I opened the bag and dived my arm in. I was up to my elbows in the innards of the toasted rice goodness. I felt the tiny pieces crushed under my desperation and try frantically to prevent me from moving about. Krispies began to tumble out of the bag in a fruitless attempt at freedom. Then I felt something! It felt like the definite edge of plastic packaging. I pulled and pulled, but to no avail. Irritated, I inspected the bag where my hand clawed maniacally only to realize I had been tugging at the other side of the cereal bag. I searched every square inch of the cereal and nothing was to be found.
Kellogg’s, you have crushed my hopes, much like I crushed the tiny Krispies in my futile attempt to find a 4-inch Disney toy. You may argue that it serves me right, seeing how my heart had become darkened with the reprehensible desire to horde the toy for myself and not to, oh, the kids in the household. But I implore you, what kind of world would we be living in if the basic structural integrity of the law of “FIRST” was kicked to ruin and rubble? I do not want to live in that world; I do not.
My heart may one day heal and perhaps I will forgive you of this horrid transgression. Until that day comes my friend, I shall resort to acquiring my toys the “old-fashioned” way and will sit in quiet resentment, begrudgingly eating my Rice Krispies. The original kind.
Thank you for listening.