i have this bucket of mints in a draw at work. i bought it at wal-mart. it was 5 dollars and contains approximately 160 mints, according to the packaging. they are individually wrapped in plastic and dressed in red swirls like rotund candy canes. and they have become my addiction while at work. never anywhere but work. i don’t dare bring them home lest i eat them all in one night.
when i come in to work in the morning, i’ve forgotten about them overnight. so as i sit down to begin my tasks i am taken by surprise at the light wafting scent of peppermint, artificial as the plastic bucket it is coming from. and i think to myself that i’ve rediscovered this great secret and i must have one.
the folly of these mints is that they are “soft” mints, like the after-dinner mints at a restaurant. the ones we want so badly that we disregard the grunginess of the spoon we must use to retrieve the mints. the ones others have breathed on, sneezed on, picked past and diseased. only these mints are individually wrapped in their own protective plastic wrapper. a translucent shell of cleanliness and propriety.
and so, at the ripe hour of 10 in the morning, i lose a battle of willpower to my habit. and then again. and again. i force myself to stop. i get some water from the kitchen. i drink it and pretend i’m content. i hold out for lunch. the half hour before noon is the longest of the day. lunch distracts me for a while. but when it is over, my mouth tastes like turkey and wheat bread. i need something minty to freshen my mouth.