At the end-of-year board meeting for ScrooMoCo, Chairman Scrooge delivered the yearly financial projections. “We’ve slashed our workforce and are earning record profits this year!”

A great cheer arose from the board.

Suddenly, the room fell into darkness and the ghostly apparition of an older man in a suit, covered in chains, appeared above the long conference table.

“My God, that’s our dead founding partner, Jacob Marley!” Scrooge cried.

“ScrooMoCo Board members,” the spirit moaned. “You’re all greedy bastards who’ve caused great economic imbalance in the world and caused terrible needless pain to the masses. When you die, you will suffer the same fate as me if you don’t repent and stop your heinous actions now. These are the chains I forged in life and believe me, they freakin’ clash with my Gucci and make getting spa treatments a bitch.”

Several board members gasped.

“You will be visited by three spirits tonight. Heed their warning or you will suffer fashion humiliation for all eternity!”

Marley vanished and the lights returned.

Chairman Scrooge snorted. “Cratchit, call maintenance and get the electrical fixed PRONTO.”

Bob Cratchit, his secretary, winced. “ But we fired the maintenance staff and outsourced the work to India.”

“Then you do it!”

The overhead lights flickered. A great crash of thunder made all the board members jump. Standing on the conference table before them was Bing Crosby.

“Hello Board Members, I’m the spirit of Christmas Past and this number goes out to all you greedy robber barons,” he announced and then broke out singing I’m Dreaming of a Rich, White and Male Christmas.

The board members clapped. “Do Swinging on a Star!”

“No, I’m here to show you how it used to be, before all you mega-corporations took over the Earth. Behold, the past!” Bing pointed to the wall behind the table.

A large movie screen appeared showing black and white footage of American factory workers on assembly lines. A happy family of six eating at a backyard barbecue. A doctor making a house call. Kids walking into shining new schools. A young couple buying their first house. A stay-at-home mother working in her kitchen of gleaming appliances.

“My doctor still makes house calls,” a board member huffed.

“Yes, and my children attend schools just like that one. Nothing has changed.”

Bing shook his head. “That used to be the life for 99% of our population. Not the 1% it is today.”

“It’s their fault for being poor,” sneered a board member.

“I give up. And now, I’d like to introduce that man-about-town, that haunting spirit you’ll all come to know and love, the Ghost of Christmas Present. Take it away, President Barack Obama.”

Bing disappeared and in his place stood Obama.

The board members screamed in fear. “A Democrat!”

“But he’s not dead,” one argued.

“Hey folks, easy does it. I’m just trying to get re-elected and this seemed like a great way to get my message across to you since none of you pay attention to what I say anymore.” He gestured to the back wall. “Behold, the present!”

A succession of film clips depicted gigantic crowds of protesters in Madrid, London, New York and Oakland. A close-up on the signs revealed the messages: We are the 99%. Corporations Must Atone. Tax the 1%. Make Jobs Not War on Middle Class and Working Poor. The images shifted to a school kid reading a torn book and sitting at a broken desk next to a bucket catching a leak in a dingy classroom. Hungry children and mothers standing in long lines at soup kitchens. Thousands of unemployed crowding job fairs. A row of boarded-up houses with brown lawns and foreclosure signs. A homeless encampment under a freeway.

“Glad I’m not poor,” commented a board member.

“Hear, hear.”

“Me, too,” said Obama. “But if we don’t change things and right now, there isn’t going to be any rich people because the poor will rise up and kill us all. Didn’t you guys study history? Remember Marie Antoinette? While you guys sip Cristal with me, people are starving out there. People can’t afford health care, homes or educations. Over the past fifteen years, you bastards have taken ALL the money. You weren’t satisfied with an extra 50% or even 75% more money than your workers, you had to give yourselves 298% raises while they only got 4%. You blew it. And your iPods and Prozac and beer and NFL championships aren’t distracting them anymore. They’re onto our game.”

A board member yawned. “I’m sorry, did you just say something? I wasn’t listening.”

“Forget it. Here’s your final spirit visitor for the day, the Ghost of Christmas Future.”

Obama vanished and a sweet little Mexican girl in pigtails and a pink dress stood on the table.

All the members shrieked in terror. “An illegal immigrant!”

The little girl nodded. “You should be afraid. Shortly, I’m going to be the majority. And you’re totally screwing me over right now. Behold, the future!”

A post-Apocalyptic landscape appeared onscreen. Mansions burned in the background. In the foreground, well-dressed people ran from pitchfork-wielding crowds. The camera panned over a burnt and cracked sign: Town of Atherton.

The board members gasped, horror-struck.

“Act now or soon it will be too late,” the little girl said and vanished.

The screen disappeared and the lights came on.

Scrooge frowned. “Wow. That was frightening.” He rubbed his chin. “So should we pay our fair share of taxes, hire more people, stop outsourcing, help rebuild America’s infrastructure, improve our education system, overhaul our healthcare system and hold big banks accountable for their crimes?”

Silence fell over the room.

One board member held up his hand. “How about we give ourselves big raises and take the rest of the money now while we still can?”

Scrooge’s eyes lit up. “All those in favor?”

“Aye!” the board members replied in unison.

Bob Cratchit muttered under his breath, “Goosed again.”

©2011, Janet Periat

I buy stupidly expensive potato chips. We all have our vices. However, I just discovered that, for some reason, I have been buying the hype about my premium potato chips. Before today, I believed that somehow my chips were not only tastier and better made than average potato chips but classier. I believed that the sophisticated manufacturer of my chips didn’t waste bag space on useless advertising slogans—their sales techniques were understated and refined. Just like their customers.

Which, I have just realized, makes me an idiot not only because I’ve wasted good money on one of the cheapest vegetables on the market but because I have succumbed to the pretentious chip manufacturer’s stupid marketing pap. Just now, as I was stuffing my face with their chips, I actually read the bag. The last time I was this disappointed was when I was seven and found out that Captain Kangaroo was neither a real Captain nor a real person but some actor named Bob (I’d already figured out he wasn’t a real kangaroo—I was quite an astute child).

On the front of the bag of my expensive chips, under the title and the sumptuous picture of tantalizing chips, is a box with this proud proclamation stated in large letters: 25% MORE CHIPS. On closer inspection, below this wonderful news that I’m getting a bunch more chips, is this statement written in very small letters. “Than Our 6 OZ Chips.” Uh. Wait. It doesn’t say 25% more for the same price. It just says 25% more than 6 OZ Chips. Which means I didn’t get a bargain at all, I just paid more for a bigger bag of chips. This is the manufacturer’s big sales pitch. It’s a bigger bag. Priced higher. This is their huge news flash.

I feel so let down. I expected more out of these people. I expect Nabisco to be lying to me and making ridiculous claims about their products. “Now! Cheesier!’ I expect Frito-Lay to be splashing their bags with ludicrous marketing nonsense. “New! Different Packaging!” But I expected more out of my high class snack purveyors. I eat their fancy schmancy chips and pay their fancy schmancy price with the idea that they are selling me a better product. They don’t need to resort to using inane sales techniques on me, their target customer, because I am refined, sophisticated and classy. I buy their pretentious potato chips because I am a gourmet snack connoisseur. In more common terms, I am a snack snob. Basically, I buy expensive beer and expensive chips because I can’t afford an expensive house and an expensive car. Buying gourmet chips is the way I get my self esteem. And now the manufacturer has failed me. They’ve crossed a boundary. They have now fallen in my eyes, I might as well be eating Doritos. (Which I eat on occasion when I feel like slumming. Also because Doritos are so frickin’ tasty even though they contain more chemicals than a hair treatment.)

On second glance at this bag, I am now feeling humiliated. These chips aren’t understated and classy, they are showy and dishonest. “Exotic Vegetable Chips” they proclaim. Exotic? Potatoes? This is like saying Velveeta is a “Rare Imported French Cheese.” The use of the word “exotic” is an outright lie. Parsnips (also in the bag) are not exotic, they are commonplace and cheap. Tawdry, even.

Now, after closely studying the copy on the bag, I am past humiliated, I’m on a downward spiral. I think I might need a snack chip intervention. Here’s my new favorite part of the sales pitch on the bag:

“Our chips combine the beautiful colors and delicious flavors of the earth’s own vegetables into the perfect accompaniment for most cuisines.”

Escargot and potato chips, anyone? I’d love my satay and curry with a side of potato chips. Sushi and potato chips, always a great combo. Filet Mignon with Béarnaise sauce, asparagus tips… and potato chips. I’m sure everyone who is shelling out a couple hundred for dinner at a fancy restaurant would be thrilled to see their entree coming out with a big pile of potato chips next to it. Not only are these chip charlatans liars, they are DELUSIONAL. Svengali bastards who hypnotized me into believing I was a better person because I bought their stupid chips. I hate them.

Even the ingredient list is pretentious. “Ingredients: A seasonal mix of root vegetables…” What? What season are they talking about? These chips are available all year round. Liars! Wasting perfectly good words hyping the stupid ingredient list! Am I supposed to feel better now for paying four bucks for a bag of chips instead of two? Because they’re using high falutin language fit only for a five star chi-chi restaurant? These are chips, people! Just potato chips! Chips that used to boost my self esteem, but now, after actually reading the bag, have made me feel like a fool. I am now in a self esteem deficit, just from buying a bag of chips. I think I’m going to get myself a lawyer. These people must pay. If some moron sued McDonald’s for serving hot coffee that was actually hot, I can certainly get some money for emotional suffering from buying hoity-toity potato chips in packaging riddled with lies.

I have decided to write my own copy for this particular bag of chips. Ripoff Chips—Overpriced Pretentious Potato Chips In Fancy Schmancy Packaging. 25% More Hype Than Other Brands! Ingredients: Plain ol’ potatoes, parsnips and some other common root vegetables that are cheap to buy and cheap to process but because we have hyped them so well we have convinced a bunch of deluded people who get their self esteem from buying overpriced snack foods to pay up the butt for stupid potato chips enabling us to retire to our own private South Seas Islands. Stay tuned for our next product: Florida Swamp Condos or Water-Based Luxury Dwellings For The Sophisticated Buyer. Free waders included in every sale!

Damn… I finished the bag. I’ll be right back. I have to go to the store for chips and beer. Uh… you got a fifty on you?