I found this on my computer a few days ago. I wrote it for school when I was 13. I thought it was funny so here ya go







Trust and a Tuna Sandwich

Trust is a very interesting concept, you may say 'I don't trust anyone', but in today's world that is impossible. You trust a million deferent people every day. For example, you trust that the tuna sandwich you ate for lunch is really tuna, for all you know you ate a sea slug sandwich, not a pleasant thing to think about, is it? What about that mayo you mixed with your tuna? Oh sure the label says it's made of eggs and vinegar and what not, but chances are there is no way you can prove that it is what the label says it is without trusting someone.

And the bread, that's right the warm crusty bread you lovingly incased your tuna in, that is full of bone chilling possibilities. Now lets think for a moment of how one of the essential parts of your tuna sandwich came to be. We will assume that your bread is made of flour, yeast and all that good stuff ( mainly because I really don't won't to think about what else it could be made of). You may think that if you know the ingredients than you worrying is over. It is a common misconception that the ingredients on the label have all the ingredients listed that is not necessarily true, and even if it were most of the ingredients names resemble science fiction names for aliens. One of the scarier things about the bread is that it had to go to so many places before it became a tuna sandwich. First some grain had to be planted (lets forget where the grain came from for the moment ). Over the summer the grain becomes a field of wheat, than a rusty old machine that has been in places I don't want to even think about comes and harvests the wheat, which if you knew anything about farming you would know has been growing in natures fertilizers, or as lay folks like to call it, cow manure .

The wheat is than ground and mixed with all those chemicals that you have under you kitchen sink that clearly state on there labels 'if swallowed contact poison control immediately', the purpose of this is to rid the wheat of any harmful bacteria. The grain, or flour as it is now called, is packaged into sacks than shipped in a semi-truck that recently hauled a load of raw cow meat. The flour may sits for days in this smelly truck.

It is then unloaded by big, strong, sweaty men who like to chew tobacco. Their job is to bring the flour into the bread factory. Now I must pause for a moment to described the bread factory. The factory is full of machines that do everything from the kneading to the baking. Theses machines must be oiled regularly to keep them from rusting. It takes only one person to man about five machines ,and as every one knows a person can not be in two places at once, because of this, these machines could start acting up and it could be a while till anyone finds out, mean while oil, nuts and bolts are dropping into our bread. Of course eventually some one will notice and fix the problem but who knows how many loaves of bread have already passed by?

Well lets just assume that by some miracle your bread has made it past the smelly trucks and the bread factory without some thing to horrible happening to it, but don't start eating yet that bread has a long way to go. Now your bread has been bagged and is ready to be shipped to the supermarkets. The bread is put into a Ingles' truck that is probably sort of clean. On the way there your bread is likely to be crushed, of course that won't effect the taste any but it will make it hard to cut. If the bread makes it safely to Ingles, and I'm not saying it will, it will than be put on the shelves. People who work at supermarkets have learned many tricks to keep your bread from going bad before it is sold ( the couldn't care less afterwards). One of these tricks is to put the fresh bread at the back of the shelf, moving the not so fresh to the front, making the not so fresh the one you are more likely to buy. Than an unsuspecting victim waltzes into Ingles, particularly you. You walk to the bread isle not suspecting a thing, you pick up the loaf of bread your wife has been nagging you to get. Then you head for the check out line and had the cashier a ten dollar bill who in turn hands you $6.23 back in change, she smiles and tells you to have a good day . And it will be a good day until you remember about this essay, but it will be to late Ingles doesn't offer refunds.