Sweet Discovery #SPKSADcontest

Sweet Discovery

Being the last girl in my group of friends to find love is like being the matchless sock that comes out of the dryer. Everyone stares at me, wondering where my perfect match is and attempts to pair me with anyone they think might be a potential mate. Being single is annoying, and I wish everyone would just shut up about the butterflies they get in their stomach when they gaze into the eyes of their beloved. I mean, come on. What's so great about feeling like your insides are crawling with fluttering insects? It gives me the heeby jeebies just imagining the so-called "electric sparks" you're supposed get from touching someone you're in love with. Yeah, that's what I want, to touch a person and feel like I'm being tazered while freezing in place and having time slow to a crawl so that I can really feel the burn and sizzle of my own skin - note the extreme sarcasm.

All of the cliche love stories make me want to vomit, and when I watch couples pledge their undying affection and loyalty, I can barely resist the urge to wash my eyeballs out with lemon juice. Or acid. There no such a thing as fairy tales, and I don't believe in happily ever after. I don't hate people, or the world around me, I just don't buy into the whole "together forever" thing, or love at first sight.

"Hey! Pay attention." A worker across from me derails my train of cynical thoughts and brings my focus back to the job at hand, which is picking out the misshapen Sour Patch Kids candies off the conveyor belt. It's not really my dream job, but I can't exactly be picky. Not many people in this small town are looking to hire an eighteen-year old girl with zero work place skills.

"Sorry." I say, shooting Kelly an apologetic look and then scurrying to catch up. I kind of like finding the candy seconds as they move past me down the line. It's like an endless game of Find the Difference, and some of the shapes they end up in are downright hilarious. Double-headed, long-armed tart creatures that makes me wonder if the machines that produce these candies don't have a little bit of a sense of humor, making them just for the heck of it.

At the end of every work day in the factory, a mini contest is held between the employees. Whoever finds the wackiest, outrageous Sour Patch Kid screw-up gets a picture of the misshapen candy pinned to the Hall of Fame office wall with their name on it. At the end of every month we all vote for our favorites, and the truly amazing one earns that lucky person a small bonus in their check. I have to admire the company for their creative way of making this monotonous task interesting, their way of allowing people to find the sweet in the sour. To date, I've still yet to win, but then again, I'm competing against Eagle Eye Eva, who works further up the line and nearly always spots the good ones before I do. To make it fair, every day we employees rotate spots by drawing numbers from a hat and going to our assigned location. The place right near the machine that dumps them out is the coveted sweet spot, which I have never drawn, but I hold out hope that one day I'll select the golden ticket. So far, none of the ones I've selected today could stand a chance, so I throw them in the trash can next to me and pray for some miraculous monster of a Sour Patch Kid to magically appear.

I know it's kind of pathetic to hope that a disfigured, grotesque candy will make itself known to me, but I've got nothing better going on at the moment.

Plus, I really want to beat Eagle Eye Eva, tear her three-month winning streak into sticky, gummy pieces. That would be a sweet revenge I can really get behind. In my supreme candy-scanning state of mind, I don't acknowledge that someone is beside me until a firm hand taps my shoulder. Surprised and not at all expecting the interruption (also hoping it's not my boss), I turn to see a guy about my age grinning down at me. He's of slim build and sort of on the tall and lanky side, emitting an uber friendly vibe that I can't help but absorb as if it's a new confectionery scent.

"HI!" He yells excitedly, eyes sparkling like grains of glistening sugar. His naturally strawberry red hair is neatly tucked underneath a hair net, and he's wearing the plastic food service gloves we are all accustomed to being part of our everyday work attire around here. The fact that he thinks he has to yell over the whirling of the machines to be heard means he's never worked the candy belt before. "Is this spot taken?" He points to an empty space right beside me and smiles with a nervous shadow to his lips, uncertain yet plucky. He's kind of adorable, and dare I say it...hunkalicious?