Friday, February 13, 2026

Surprises?!

 


Surprises are unpredictable.

That’s the polite way to say they can either make your week… or make you question your loyalty to existence.

Because here’s the thing about surprises: you don’t get a warning label. You don’t get a calendar invite. You just wake up one day and life decides whether it’s feeling generous or chaotic.

Sometimes a surprise is a random refund hitting your account from a class action lawsuit that you forgot you signed up for a year ago.

Sometimes a surprise is seeing someone you haven’t seen in a long time.

Sometimes it's getting an extra free snack from the vending machine.

Sometimes it’s your favorite product vanishing off the shelf with no explanation, no goodbye, no candlelight vigil.

And yes.

We’re talking about Aldi again.

Specifically, the Honey Sesame Salmon bowls from their Whole & Simple line.

Let me set the stage.

About six months ago, I discovered what I can only describe as the frozen meal equivalent of balance. Salmon that didn’t taste like freezer-burn sadness. A honey sesame glaze that walked the tightrope between sweet and savory like a culinary gymnast. Vegetables that still had texture. Rice that wasn’t clumped together like it had given up on life.

It was reliable. It was convenient. It was the kind of meal that makes you feel like you’re making decent adult decisions without actually cooking.

And then one day… it was gone.

No warning.

No “limited time only” sticker.

Just an empty space in the freezer section where happiness used to live.

That’s a bad surprise.

Bad surprises create trust issues. You start side-eyeing other products like, “Are you stable? Are you committed? Or are you also planning to disappear when I get attached?”

For six months, every trip to Aldi became a ritual.

Walk to the freezer aisle.
Open the door.
Scan the shelf.
Brief flicker of hope.
Close the door.
Pretend I’m fine.

I was not fine.

Because there’s something uniquely cruel about Aldi’s product rotation system. When you love something there, you’re essentially entering into a short-term lease agreement. You enjoy it while it’s around, but deep down you know it could vanish at any moment.

And then.

Out of nowhere.

Good surprise.

I’m casually walking through Aldi, emotionally detached, expectations low, just going to grab a gallon of milk and be on my way.

But out of habit, I swung by the frozen section. Just to check.

Just to see if they would finally come back to me.

And to my utter disbelief… there they were.

Honey Sesame Salmon bowls.

Back.

Just sitting there like they never left. No apology. No explanation. Just… present.

Now let’s talk about positive surprises after prolonged suffering.

They hit different.

They feel earned.

They feel personal.

I did not hesitate.

I did not overthink.

I bought twenty boxes.

Yes. Twenty.

You might call that excessive.

I call that strategic risk management.

I had to play Tetris with my freezer just to make sure they would all fit.

Good thing I’ve been playing Tetris for over 30 years now.

If I had a chest freezer, I would have cleared the Aldi shelves of every single box.

Because when you’ve waited over half a year for something to return, you don’t play games. You secure inventory. You protect your peace. You plan for the next six months like a responsible adult who has been emotionally burned before.

This is the dual nature of surprises.

Bad surprises teach you caution.
Good surprises restore hope.
And the rare surprise that brings back something you genuinely missed? That one makes you act with conviction.

Life is full of unexpected turns. Some are inconvenient. Some are incredible. But every once in a while, Aldi’s supply chain department throws you a bone.

And when it does?

You load the cart.

You fill the freezer.

You reclaim your stability.

Because sometimes a restock isn’t just a restock.
It’s closure.
It’s redemption.
It’s the emotional equivalent of your favorite show getting renewed for another season.

And let’s be honest — frozen meals are not all created equal. There are tiers to this. There are levels. And these bowls sit comfortably at the “I will rearrange my appliance layout for you” level.

So yes, surprises can be both good and bad.

But right now, thanks to Aldi once again carrying their Whole & Simple Honey Sesame Salmon bowls, I am living in the good surprise era.

And if history has taught me anything, it’s this:

Never underestimate the power of a restock.

And never assume I won’t buy 20 boxes again.

Aldi, this is my plea to you…

PLEASE KEEP THE HONEY SESAME SALMON BOWLS IN STOCK ALL YEAR ROUND.

Let us build consistency.
Let us build trust.
Let us build freezers full of honey sesame stability.

That felt good.

If you have an Aldi near you, and you like Salmon, please give these bowls a try before they're gone.

Because once they are........you won't see them again for a very, very long time.

Thanks for reading folks, until next week!

Friday, February 6, 2026

First Impressions!



There’s a very specific social experience I have that repeats itself with the consistency of a software bug no one has patched yet:

I meet someone for the first time.
They look at me like I just told them their dog failed a math test.

And I haven’t said. A. Word.

Apparently, when I’m quiet, reserved, and processing my surroundings like a normal human being, my face broadcasts:

“This man is furious, judgmental, and possibly drafting a formal complaint in his head.”

I am not.

Well, most of the time, I am not.

I am, in fact, running the mental equivalent of Windows Safe Mode.


The First Impression Problem

When I meet new people, I don’t immediately turn into the witty, sarcastic, animated version of myself that my friends know.

I go into Observer Mode™.

I’m scanning the room.
I’m figuring out personalities.
I’m deciding if this is a “you can be weird here” environment or a “nod politely and survive” environment.

But from the outside?

I look like I’m calculating who to eliminate first if things go south.

People think:

  • I’m angry

  • I’m annoyed

  • I don’t want to be there

  • I’m judging them

  • I’m plotting

In reality, my brain is just going:

“Okay… who here seems normal… who here laughs too loud… who here is going to make this awkward… got it.”

This is not hostility.
This is social buffering.

I must admit, a lot of that is by design.

It's definitely a defense mechanism.

I need to know that I can fully be myself, BEFORE fully being myself.


The Moment People Realize They Misread Me

There is always a turning point.

Sometimes it's as soon as 20–40 minutes in.

Other times it can take a few days, or even weeks.

Someone says something slightly unhinged, or sarcastic, or weird enough that my brain goes:

“Ah. We can be ourselves here.”

And suddenly the personality switch flips like someone just turned on the lights in a haunted house.

I start talking more.
I start joking.
The sarcasm comes out.
The commentary starts rolling.

And you can see it happen on their face:

“Oh.
Ohhhhh.
This guy is actually… fun?”

Yes.
I always was.

You just caught me during the tutorial level.

Most of my coworkers are still on that same level.

They don't even know that I speak, let alone that I actually......have friends at work?!

GASP!!!


The Reputation That Follows Me

What’s funny is when I meet people later who say:

“I thought you hated me when we first met.”

Sir.

Ma'am.

I did not know you existed 45 minutes prior.

I was just running diagnostics.

I promise I don’t have the emotional energy to hate strangers on sight. That’s a premium feature reserved for people who chew loudly.

Although, if I find you that you like pickles BEFORE I get to know you......all bets are off.


Why This Happens (My Completely Unscientific Theory)

I think some people start social interactions from a place of performance.

They arrive already “on.”

I do not.

I arrive in standby mode.

I don’t perform for new people. I warm up to them.

So while other people are saying:

“Hi! I’m super friendly and outgoing!”

I’m saying (internally):

“Let’s see if this is a situation where that’s worth doing.”

It’s not coldness.
It’s energy conservation.

I don’t invest personality until I know the return is safe.

Sometimes I also don't feel like I have anything meaningful to contribute to the current group conversation.

I'll end up telling myself that if I don't have anything funny, witty, sarcastic, or meaningful (to me) to the current conversation at the moment, then I'll just stay silent, keep observing and listening, and wait for an opening.

It's a pressure that I put on myself pretty much at all times around strangers.


The Version of Me People Eventually Meet

Once I’m comfortable?

The complete opposite of the first impression.

  • I talk!

  • I joke!

  • I'll figure out your sense of humor, and then you're done for!

  • I'll turn minor observations into full bit segments!

And people go:

“This is not the guy I met earlier.”

Correct. THAT guy was running in low-power mode so THIS guy could exist later.


The Misunderstanding I’ve Made Peace With

At this point, I don’t even try to fix it.

If someone meets me and thinks I’m angry or cold?

That’s fine.

Because the people who stick around long enough to realize they were wrong are the ones I was going to get along with anyway.

It’s almost like an accidental personality filter.

If you can survive 30 minutes of me being quiet without assuming I’m plotting your downfall, we’re probably going to be friends.

Unless you like pickles, then it's on a case-by-case basis.


Final Thought

I’m not unfriendly.
I’m not mad.
I’m not judging you.

I’m just waiting to make sure this is a room where I can safely be the unhinged, sarcastic, overly-analytical version of myself without scaring everyone.

Give me a little time.

I promise the personality loads in!

As always, thanks for taking the time to read this, I hope you enjoyed it, and we'll do it again next week!