I didn't ask to fall in love with Manny's tostado chips. If I'd only ever eaten Tostitos or Old Dutch brand tortilla chips, I'm sure my quality of life wouldn't be drastically different. But somehow, Manny's found its way into my kitchen, and quite frankly, my life hasn't been the same since.
That first bag was an impulse buy during a routine trip to the grocery store. It was cheaper than other brands and it appeared to have more chips—two very important qualities to consider when purchasing chips.
The bag sat unopened for several nights, until finally one lazy Saturday afternoon, I opened it for a movie-night snack. Before I sat down, I tried one of the chips, just to see what I was dealing with. One bite and it was settled: this bag of chips was the best $3.89 I'd ever spent.
With the lights off, movie on and chips in hand, things were going quite nicely. Sure, there were other people in the room—my girlfriend, my brother and my roommate to name a few—but they couldn't compete for my affection at that moment. I was in the midst of a love affair with that bag of chips.
I thought it was only fitting to consume them naked. Though, I should point out, I was fully dressed. The chips, on the other hand, were sans-dressing. Unburdened by the distracting, not to mention degrading, flavors of nacho cheese and mild salsa, the full majesty of Manny's tostado chips was in full crispy display for all to taste.
Well, actually not all. When my brother tried to steal a chip from me, I went into defense mode, almost like a cheetah protecting its kill from lurking hyenas. I even managed to fit a growl in between mouthfuls of chips.
It was shortly after that this moment of bliss took a turn for the worse. Reaching into the bag, I found an odd-shaped chip. In fact, it wasn't a chip at all. Black like charcoal and pocked with what appeared to be bits of yellow cement, it bore a striking resemblance to Dick Cheney's heart.
Using the scientific method I'd learned in high school chemistry, I first wafted the unknown substance under my nose. But smelling nothing, I took the next logical step and put it in my mouth. Did I mention I went to public school?
Immediately, I realized my error. The voice of my high school chemistry teacher came rushing into my brain—""DON'T EVER PUT ANYTHING IN YOUR MOUTH!""—as the taste of the unknown substance left me gasping for water.
Once I finished rinsing my mouth, I set about righting this treacherous wrong. My first stop was Google, which informed me that Manny's was actually a part of the Hormel Foods family. So, I headed for Hormel's customer service page. There I filled out a form detailing the horror that had recently befallen me.
Within one day, I received an e-mail response that meant, more or less, the check was in the mail. Three days later, an envelope arrived. Enclosed was a check from Hormel Foods for a paltry four bucks. No apology. No condolences. Just a check.
Now, I assure you, I'm an upstanding young gentleman with a decent set of scruples. I can't be bought. But a bag of Manny's is different. Unlike my conscience, it is readily available for purchase. Now if I could just find something to do with this extra 11 cents.
