We bought too much candy for the wet and rainy Beggars’ Night in New Albany. Or, more precisely, we bought too much of the wrong candy — namely, Starburst.
On Beggars’ Night, we had our customary basket of multiple candy options to offer trick-or-treaters. Only the youngest and most inexperienced ghosts and goblins grabbed Starbursts. Every other Halloweener dug furiously through the contents of the basket, like a dog clawing the ground to uncover a bone, in a desperate attempt to find Butterfingers, Reese’s minis, or even Skittles. When the last trick-or-treater had rung the doorbell, taken a sad look at what was left in the basket, and departed with a painful sigh, we were left with enough Starbursts to float a small battleship.
We didn’t want them around the house, obviously. No problem! I thought. I’ll just take them to the office, plop them next to the coffee station on our floor, and the perpetually hungry denizens of the fifth floor would feel the urge of their sweet tooth and consume all of the candy in the blink of an eye. Donuts, other baked goods, and anything with chocolate have been known to disappear faster than the speed of light, and occasionally there are tense standoffs as secretaries, paralegals, and attorneys eye the last brownie or piece of birthday cake. So I put the Starburst in a bag, took it to work, and left it to be rapidly consumed.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I found this half-full bag of Starburst when I was leaving for the day at 6 p.m. tonight. It is an unheard-of development that speaks volumes about the quality of the candy. So I decided to conduct the crucial acid test and leave the bag for the overnight cleaning crew to enjoy. If any Starburst are left tomorrow morning, it can only mean one thing: Starburst candy truly sucks.