Today's finds, other than a metal doohickey and a WeatherZone tag left over, I assume, from someone's winter coat, are pretty much all evidence of local snacking patterns: a water bottle (the lone indicator of any kind of healthy eating), a BK cup, styrofoam package bits, a Toastchee wrapper (note to my husband: yes, I said TOASTCHEE, not NABS), and a Saltine sleeve.
The aforementioned metal doohickey. Looks a bit like the business end of our air compressor (which reminds me, I haven't checked the air pressure in my tires in waaaaay too long).
But this stuff is what I'm more interested in. I've always wondered if there could be a less-appealing brand name for baked goods than "Otis Spunkmeyer." Guess maybe they were trying to hitch a ride on the tweed coattails of snackmaster Orville Redenbacher. But I, for one, don't think they succeeded. I mean, c'mon: "Otis," the Mayberry town drunk, and "Spunkmeyer," which may as well just be "Spunkmeister." Curiosity finally piqued beyond the OK-I'll-Google-it tipping point, I just looked up the story behind the name. I was hoping it wasn't a real guy, and no, the name was made up by the founder's 12-year-old kid. Think I would've hired an agency. But the real problem is just a blueberry muffin that comes packaged in cellophane. How good can that be?
As I was saying. Want to know the saddest thing about this Lance honeybun wrapper, which someone obviously ripped into with great zeal? The best bakery around, the Graham Tasty Bakery, is like two blocks from here. You could've gotten a fresh, life-alteringly delicious honeybun the size of your head for about the same price you paid to get this one from the Stop-N-Shop. The only possible excuse: It was Sunday and the good folks who run the bakery were enjoying their well-deserved day of rest.