In a moment of fantastic glory, the microwave sounds at me. Beep . . . beep . . . and finally a third beep. After one minute and 45 seconds of gut-wrenching anticipation, I retrieve my prize . . . a wonderfully delicious Philly Cheese Steak Hot Pocket. I pry it from its microwave-safe cardboard prison that can no longer hold back the exotic flavors that await my taste buds.
As the cheese oozes down the bread-like texture that surrounds the cheese steak goodness, I carry my enticing pocket back to my desk at work.
I wait a moment, in agony and praise of this delicious treat that moments from now will be devoured, only to leave me wanting more. I slowly reel in my edible companion and sink my teeth into its tender breast . . . but alas! My mouth has been scolded by what seems like flaming embers of beef and boiling cheese.
A moment of realization. This hot pocket is not a friend, but a foe, plotting my demise in a slow, intricately thought out process to scorch my taste buds like napalm over the jungles of Viet Nam.
I now know the repercussions of my actions, and yet, am unable to resist the temptation of the beast I had thrown to my plate just moments ago. Another bite. My mouth spits steaming cheese all over my work computer monitor and keyboard, as a piece of beef dangles on my chin, smoldering away at the poor excuse of what I call facial hair.
My enemy has deceived me once more, and I will not have it! I realize I must use sharp tactics to outwit this seemingly harmless enemy. A moment’s pondering. Eureka! I shall go forth and excrete waste from my bowels (which will inevitably happen after the consumption as well), and thus force my opponent to wither and cool.
Four and a half minutes later, I return from my detour to find my foe sitting upon its final resting place, like a soldier who has died a slow, painful death. Victory is mine. A moment of mourning is in order for such a worthy adversary. Then I consume the carnage of a once great warrior, to respect and honor its fierce, noteworthy legend.
Delicious flavors race through my mouth. My anticipation and patience has paid off in a lukewarm taste sensation. As I reach the center of my war spoils, a curious thing occurs. In its final act of vengeance and warrior prowess, my enemy has polarized its temperatures to a frigid crunchiness that I had not anticipated. Like a true soldier, my foe wasn’t going down alone.
I battled through the frost and ice molecules that were holding their ground firmly through this wretchedly defiant pocket, but it was of no avail. My hunger had seceded and I had been vanquished like many before me who had risen against the throne that most know quite plainly as, the Hot Pocket.