I went to a San Francisco Giants game last summer with a bunch of friends and the girl I was seeing at the time. We all bought tickets in different sections so we decided to move to the bleachers so we could all sit together. We sat in front of a spot that was empty except for an abandoned half-eaten pretzel and a pile of discarded peanut shells. I was sitting there watching the game, talking and laughing and enjoying being alive, and I turned to my girl to give her a kiss. But I couldn’t because she was eating a pretzel. I thought that was odd because we didn’t go on a food run yet. I asked her where she got the pretzel. She pointed to the spot behind me where the pile of discarded peanut shells was. The abandoned half-eaten pretzel was no longer there. It was in her hand. And her mouth. And I couldn’t even look her in the eye. It was horrible. It still is. And it’s come to be known as the Pretzel Incident. I pray you never experience it for yourself.
Critically Rated at 3/17
Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young