Home > Bitching, Disgusting, Disturbing, Food, My Dad, My Mom, My Sister, Ohio, Strange, Traumatic Childhood > The Time I Ate PowerBars for a Week

The Time I Ate PowerBars for a Week

January 20, 2012 Leave a comment Go to comments

Many years ago, my parents headed out to Arizona for some sort of pharmaceutical-sponsored conference.

Back before legislation was passed that made this sort of spending illegal, pharma companies would lavish attention and dollars attracting doctors to their events, all in the hopes that the MDs would think of their little pill in the future. Though obviously very ethically questionable, my dad, and by extension his family, got to do some pretty sweet shit.

Riverboat cruises, special fireworks viewing areas, free dinners – the list goes on.

Anyway, at some point, he and my mom ventured into the desert to learn about some new inhaler, and hang out at a resort free of charge. We children were left behind to sulk and whine. My sister and I were assigned a babysitter we had never met before. Eerily thin with a slightly manic grin, she looked like a jogger who had taken a wrong turn and had thus been running for eternity. She was perky to the point of annoyance, and lived life as if she were hosting a children’s show.

My parents waved goodbye, and almost immediately, this woman’s dog made an appearance. Now, she had been forbidden to bring her dog since my brother was deathly allergic, but her corgi made itself at home. Though my brother didn’t live with us at the time, he couldn’t stay in any house where a dog had been in the past five years or so. The dog pranced around and terrorized the cat (who later melted), slobbering on all our furniture and gnawing on our shoes.

The woman then revealed that she sustained herself on a diet of PowerBars, and expected us to do the same. The tar-like bar was jam-packed with protein, and lord only knows what else. Possibly laxatives given its effect on my digestive system. Our new babysitter placed a single bar on a plate, then handed my sister and I each a fork and knife. Our first sullen meal was eaten in silence, and I cut up my bar into tiny chunks before swirling them around the plate. I pointedly made sure they never came near my mouth. But I eventually succumbed, and choked it down piece by piece. The taste was horrid, and the bar did nothing to sate my hunger. But I did have to admit that after dinner clean-up was considerably easier.

PowerBars became our breakfasts and dinners, and I gorged myself in the school cafeteria for lunch. The woman taking care of us apparently sustained herself just fine on PowerBars, though I would not be surprised to hear she used cocaine as an appetizer. After a few days of this, there was a Fire Sale going on in my ass. Signs must have been posted on my butt cheeks, declaring that, “Everything! Must! Go!” My sphincter had never been so void of contents, before or since.

By the time my parents finally returned, our house had been ransacked by the dog, and my sister and I had the pallor of nutritional deficiency. The woman was fired, never to be seen again, but I have not been able to eat an energy bar since that day. The thought alone is enough to turn my stomach.

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