Consumer Retorts

I can’t say I’m exactly a power consumer of frozen meals. I know people who swear by them, though. It’s the delicious combination of mini-servings from the major food groups, combined and then cryogenically ice-blasted for your mid-day consumption that Lean Cuisine makes a killing on. Hey, it kills some time at the microwave which you se spent banging your head against thy desk. Sounds win-win to me.

But this is too much.

Look, I’m all for the creation of central information for fans of a common interest. Take Lostpedia, for example. Millions of Losties around the globe have created a compendium of all the Island’s mysteries and facts, so that an obscure reference from tonight’s ep is just a few clicks away. Lostpedia makes sense.

Frozen Meal Central does not.

In a glorious return to break room signage, and perhaps founded by a certain crazy person, there’s a new refrigerator posting that needless to say, has caught my eye. It’s a spreadsheet – finance types are drawn to them like moths to flames – and upon further inspection, it’s got a noble cause. A noble cause that we will now make fun of endlessly.

Hey, that’s how we roll at YAB.

The average frozen Lean Cuisine runs about 3.99/per lunch. That’s A) cheaper than going to McDonalds, but B) more expensive than starving. However, with so many options and so many entrees out there, how is a frozen meal rookie to know which one is a diamond in the icy rough and which one will make you long to have chosen the aforementioned choice B)? If there was only a consortium that would report on individual meal’s quality for all to read, so that we as a nation could stop buying the abysmal Stouffer’s “teriyaki pork with rice” because it “tastes like shoes,” we could all be happier employees. And thus, a spreadsheet was born.

The spreadsheet asks the question (in bold caps and center-justified), “Have You Ever Had a Horrible Frozen Meal for Lunch?” While you pause in front of the fridge to ponder, the sheet hits you with an order. “Please rate the meals you eat to improve everybody’s lunch experiences!” After that it’s an empty form of 15 or so rows, with room for the brand and meal name and ten individual ratings from ten individual reviewers.

(For the record, Olympic figure skating employs only 6 judges. Which means this is WAY more important.)

But how will we rate the meals, oh Spreadsheet of Truth? We demand an objective scale by which to assess the gourment quality of these frozen peas and cauliflower!!! Oh, what’s that at the bottom? “Please rate your meal for taste on a scale from 1-10. 10 being the best meal you’ve ever had.”

If the best meal I ever eat comes in a small rectangular box and requires 2 and a half minutes in the microwave, I’ve completely wasted God’s gift of the sense of taste.

Ok, that’s the whole spreadsheet from top to bottom. Feel free to make your own to put up in your common kitchen spaces. In the meantime, I’ll contemplate how to contribute in my own little way. Here are some of my options.

1 – Skew the tallies. Once this gets rolling, who’s to police whether or not I serve as Judge #3. Oh, the possiblities. Negative numbers, fractions, and letter grades come to mind. Something tells me the origin of this spreadsheet doesn’t work in finance, but someone who works in finance may sure as hell end it.

2 – Invent frozen meals. Not ridiculous things – actual cuisine that could pass in your grocer’s freezer. How does Spring Breeze Chicken sound? Sounds real enough to me. When I give it three straight tens and one 9 (all in different ink color for cloaking purposes), I’ll have the pirates scouring their local Safeway for hours.

3 – Create a rival spreadsheet – I’m a firm believer that competition will make anyone play better. So when I put up a spreadsheet asking people for their take on their favorite office kitchen signage, we’ll see just how mighty Frozen Meal Central. (My guess? Somewhere behind “Please refill the empty coffee” and just before “U.S. Department of Labor Health Statistics.”

4 – Put an actual shoe in the freezer.

(NOTE: I borrowed the still-blank spreadsheet for the writing of this post. It’s been up since Monday and there’s not a trace of ink on it. In the 20 minutes I’ve had it at my desk, a replacement has been drafted and hung. I’m speechless.)