Words and Thoughts: The Power of Oreos
Hello again, alleged readers! It’s that time of the year again. You know the time I’m talking about, I’m sure of it. It’s when Oreos get discounted. I know because I was almost able to read the flyer they just have stacks of out in front of the grocery store, presumably to be used for kindling for bonfires in the parking lot in front of the grocery store. “Presumably” because it is definitely what I use it for.
I didn’t need to read it though; the beautifully illustrated imagery told the story: A picture of a package of Oreos. Crossed out numbers. Different numbers. Peas. Nope, sorry, the peas were just adjacent to the Oreos, but they have their own chapter in the flyer. A barcode. It is, without a doubt, Oreo discount season.
Unsold inventory from last year’s Oreo crop must be sold in order to make room for the fresh crop. Truly a special time to be alive. Children undoubtedly wait for this time of year, the Oreo Discount Time, all year. Grown-ups, knowing they’ll be able to fill their pantry with Oreos, AND pay for healthcare, AT THE SAME TIME, feel the American dream wash over them like crude oil from a trillion barrels all upturned at once 30 yards in front of them, slowly drowning in the ethereal bliss of the tidal wave of crude oil… except it’s not crude oil, it’s sugar, cocoa, and animal fat in a plastic sleeve.
Connoisseurs, the well to do, and Rosanne Barr also surely await Oreo Sale season, because that means that while the masses clamor for last year’s crop at unbeatable prices, they on the other hand will soon have the Earth’s freshest Oreos on their dinner table. The new crop, fresh from the ground somewhere other than here, more valuable than any of the jellybean things you get when you squeeze a pregnant salmon too hard, will adorn the dainty forks of the connoisseurs, grace the mahogany tables of the well to do, and be in the trough that Rosanne has.
Yes, it is a time for celebration, rejoicing, and feasting. Never, anywhere, ever, is the passage of time so close to becoming graspable than when the new Oreo crop comes in. The old Oreos, once new, now aged to perfection, depart. The new Oreos, some destined to become old Oreos, fresh and tender, arrive. I’m pretty sure that the natural beauty found in the balance of the fleeting impermanence of the Oreos themselves juxtaposed with the immortal permanence of the cycle of the Oreo crops is why the sun rises every day, and what Celine Dion was probably trying to sing about in “The Power of Love”.
One perhaps has never truly lived until they’ve had a fresh Oreo. Likewise, has one truly experienced this world without rushing to Quops (that’s what we call the Tops Market that used to be a Quality Market) to procure discounted Oreos? I submit they have not.
I steal most of my Oreos, but I mean, I still “get it”, y’know?
