Monday Munchies: You’re Canceled!

 

Facebook, the app that was once used by horny teenagers to quote emo lyrics as their own thoughts has changed drastically over the years. Mostly because it’s only used by baby boomers to spy on people they went to high school with or your relatives to repost conspiracy theories supplied by Russian bots. Whenever I now log into my account, I’ve noticed a lot posts from people about how “woke” they are. Some of these people are pretty genuine—or, at the very least, they’re really good at acting like it. Others, such as the jerks I went to school with, come off about as real as a Hot Pocket. I’m not one to choose sides whenever the proverbial poo hits the fan, but right now, I’d rather give up smoking cannabis forever than become any sort of celebrity under a microscope.

One feature that Facebook has yet to ruin with unnecessary updates is the “memories” option. Every day, without fail, you can look back at your own cringeworthy stupidity on that particular day each year, all the way back to the moment you first signed your life away to Mark Zuckerberg. Some of my own personal favorites include gag-worthy posts with exes, misspelled words, and those that would probably get me canceled quicker than a Married With Children . . . reboot. I’m not defending anyone (myself included), or saying that their actions are inexcusable, but any time a movement involves an angry mob, there seems to be a lot of casualties—besides, people change.

Cancel culture isn’t going to solve anything. At the end of the day, a tweet isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. If we were really concerned about the products we purchase and the morals of the companies that make them, we would all be naked and our medicine cabinets would be empty save for a clove of garlic. So instead of canceling big brands or people and posting about it in between yoga classes, I’ve decided to start a movement of my own.

The Cancel-Out Movement
Since living in Orange County without giving money to a company that has a questionable past isn’t an option, and my own history would come into question if I were to call out anyone else, I’ve decided that this is my best option. Now, whenever you find yourself contributing to a company whose moral fiber could use a bowl of oatmeal, you can cancel it out by contributing an equal or larger amount of your hard-earned currency to a company that isn’t in league with the devil. Yesterday, while wandering around Fashion Island and trying to find a spot to spark up, I could feel my stomach slowly eating itself. After seeing the waitlists for almost every restaurant in the immediate area, I headed for the food court to quell my hunger pains. Unfortunately, the first place that looked remotely appetizing amongst the multiple salad options was a place that Twitter told me was off-limits: Chick-fil-A. It was probably the potent mixture of cannabis and more cannabis, but after purchasing my spicy chicken sandwich, my conscience began telling me I had made a mistake. I couldn’t take back the money I had just given to a corporation that has notoriously funded anti-LGBTQ political organizations, but I could do something to offset my sin.

Five Guys—a company that boasts numerous charities, a famous visit to its D.C. location from Barack Obama, and no Google alerts for human-rights violations—is just a few feet away from the chicken spot and might make my favorite burger of all time. My new movement of canceling out instead of just canceling worked brilliantly, as I finished both my meals with alternating bites. I may not win a Nobel Peace Prize or get mentioned on Twitter, but I will sleep better knowing that the burger I ate went to funding public schools that teach children that sometimes men kiss other men and it’s okay. Happy smoking, everyone!