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I saw on Twitter that Miracle Whip has a Youtube contest where you tell how Miracle Whip has helped or hindered a relationship of yours and you could win $25,000 for you wedding or divorce. That’s cute right?
Well, I hate Miracle Whip. So I cannot write a Youtube script that would ring true or be endearing, and I’m not getting married or divorced. But I have a Miracle Whip story that’s worth telling and it’s the reason that I still flinch and gag whenever I even think that Miracle Whip might be in a sandwich I’m about to bite into.
It was the 80s and I was traveling north on the 405 freeway from Long Beach, California, (where I lived) to Azusa, where I was finishing up Beauty School. I’m sure I was talking on my “brick” phone with one hand and eating my Jack in the Box breakfast sandwich with the other, while steering my ’68 Plymouth Barracuda with my knee and going 80 miles an hour with traffic. (I live in Chicago now and I miss driving alongside my fellow “pro” freeway drivers.)
About 2 miles up ahead was the 91 east to west onramp overpass to the southbound 405 and a huge freight truck was on it. The truck’s cargo must have been packed to the top of the refrigerated interior because, as it took the curve on the overpass, the whole truck, minus the driver in the cab, tipped over and fell onto all of the northbound lanes. Luckily, it was early morning in the middle of summer so as cars approached the freight compartment as it was falling they were able to avoid being crushed or hitting it. Not so lucky for people in cars like me who saw what was happing up ahead: we witnessed the top of the freight compartment popping off like a squeezed frozen juice container as it hit the pavement. Only no juice squirted out: just boxes containing thousands of jars of Miracle Whip. And those jars of white fluffy spread popped and broke and began to spew its sploof all over the freeway so the next “wave” of fellow Los Angelino fab drivers began to slip and slide all around like bumper cars at a carnival; only we were all such good drivers that we had slowed down by the time we came to the Miracle Whipastrophe that we never hit each other.
I had never had a problem with Miracle Whip before the incident. I usually bought Best Foods mayo but if Miracle Whip was in the house--I liked it just as well. But after I spent that whole summer smelling the sun cooked Kraft product in my car, it’s a wonder I have not had trauma therapy for that condiment calamity. That whole summer was spent washing and power washing the underside of my muscle car: in the wheel wells, the undercarriage, engine... Miracle Whip, I don’t qualify for your $25,000 but is it too late to ask for a new car?
Well, I hate Miracle Whip. So I cannot write a Youtube script that would ring true or be endearing, and I’m not getting married or divorced. But I have a Miracle Whip story that’s worth telling and it’s the reason that I still flinch and gag whenever I even think that Miracle Whip might be in a sandwich I’m about to bite into.
It was the 80s and I was traveling north on the 405 freeway from Long Beach, California, (where I lived) to Azusa, where I was finishing up Beauty School. I’m sure I was talking on my “brick” phone with one hand and eating my Jack in the Box breakfast sandwich with the other, while steering my ’68 Plymouth Barracuda with my knee and going 80 miles an hour with traffic. (I live in Chicago now and I miss driving alongside my fellow “pro” freeway drivers.)
About 2 miles up ahead was the 91 east to west onramp overpass to the southbound 405 and a huge freight truck was on it. The truck’s cargo must have been packed to the top of the refrigerated interior because, as it took the curve on the overpass, the whole truck, minus the driver in the cab, tipped over and fell onto all of the northbound lanes. Luckily, it was early morning in the middle of summer so as cars approached the freight compartment as it was falling they were able to avoid being crushed or hitting it. Not so lucky for people in cars like me who saw what was happing up ahead: we witnessed the top of the freight compartment popping off like a squeezed frozen juice container as it hit the pavement. Only no juice squirted out: just boxes containing thousands of jars of Miracle Whip. And those jars of white fluffy spread popped and broke and began to spew its sploof all over the freeway so the next “wave” of fellow Los Angelino fab drivers began to slip and slide all around like bumper cars at a carnival; only we were all such good drivers that we had slowed down by the time we came to the Miracle Whipastrophe that we never hit each other.
I had never had a problem with Miracle Whip before the incident. I usually bought Best Foods mayo but if Miracle Whip was in the house--I liked it just as well. But after I spent that whole summer smelling the sun cooked Kraft product in my car, it’s a wonder I have not had trauma therapy for that condiment calamity. That whole summer was spent washing and power washing the underside of my muscle car: in the wheel wells, the undercarriage, engine... Miracle Whip, I don’t qualify for your $25,000 but is it too late to ask for a new car?
jon-david is the author of, Mafia Hairdresser, available on all eBook formats and Smashwords.com. His second book will be on sale this fall and can be previewed with book 1.
Original Twitter post from @MiracleWhip
"Tell us how MW affects your relationship for a chance to win $25K for your wedding or divorce @ http://t.co/JrhSnEk. No purchase necessary."
"Tell us how MW affects your relationship for a chance to win $25K for your wedding or divorce @ http://t.co/JrhSnEk. No purchase necessary."
