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The Other Kind of Chocolatier

Main Ingredients:
dog walker
condensed milk
facebook post

Spice Pack:
1/3 dollop of woe
1/8 pinch of acceptance

A heaping pile of dog shit. Greg could certainly be referring to his boss, or his ex. Instead, he was staring straight down at a literal mountain of warm excrements from a dorky pup no bigger than a rat. Why him? He hated being a dog walker. If only his younger self could see his crushed dreams. In college, Greg was known for satisfying late night munchies with gourmet chocolate creations. But, today, he was dealing with a different type of chocolate creations.

It all went downhill after The Incident. While scrolling through Facebook posts when he should have been studying for finals, he found a chance to go on a walking tour of Charlie’s Chocolate Factory. He was finally going to learn how to be a world renowned chocolatier.

Arriving at the address listed on the flyer, he looked around to make sure it was the right place. Greg tread slowly towards the vacant lot that lay before him. Sneakers hung from the electrical lines, dogs barked behind barbed wire, and there were sirens in the distance. He swore he heard a woman crying. Where was he? The sheltered college kid clutched his belongings whenever inside the DMV. This was unchartered territory.

Nevertheless, Greg walked fearfully towards a small stand that lay in the middle of the lot. He could barely make out the words on a nearby sign - “C. Harlie’s Chocolate Factory.” What? Certainly this was just a silly spelling error.
A lone piece of paper read: “Hello Greg! I’m C. Harlie, and I’m going to make you a huge success! First, you’ll need to sign this waiver to begin your tour.” He picked up a pen and clicked - OUCH! Pointy. He signed on the dotted line - hmm red ink? As soon as the pen left the paper’s surface, Greg blacked out. And he woke up a middle-aged dog walker. The elaborate scam had signed his soul away to C. Harlie’s Chocolate Factory - a poorly named fertilizer company.

He sighed as he dropped his collections for the day off at the lot.

“It’s ok,” he thought.
“I have some good benefits and paid vacation. After all, I can’t cry over spilled condensed milk!”
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