"Oh wow. If only we had something in our pockets where we could look things up that we don’t know… Oh wait! Google!”
“I would not personally purchase this product, but I would never make fun of people who do. I’m sure you buy things other people think are crazy.”
“It’s a groundhog. And they do cause problems for a lot of people.”
These are some of the responses I got to this recent post I dared to fling out into the social sphere after spotting 4 packaged ice cubes for sale in a box at Aldi:
A short story by me, titled: “THINGS I HAVEN’T SEEN BEFORE, BUT NOW I HAVE"
Excuse me, Aldi, but what? You want me to pay $4.29 (the clearance price; it was $4.99) for 4 neatly packaged (in a box no less) square ICE CUBES? I was young, and now I’m old, and I have never seen 4 ice cubes for sale. Anywhere. Bags of ice, sure. But this? What’s next? Five dollars for a box of air?
While we’re at it, yesterday, a “wildlife control” truck pulled up next to me at a two-lane red light. In big letters on the side of the truck, it said: “Bats. Raccoons. Squirrels. Woodchucks." I was with them, until “woodchucks.” Because I don’t know about you, but I was young, and now I’m old, and I have never had a woodchuck problem. Ever. In fact, outside of the tongue-twisting rhyme we’re all familiar with, I’m not sure I even knew they were a real thing.
-The End
First, let me clarify that I understood those bougie square ice cubes were probably a very familiar sight to people who know their alcohol. Back when Regan was President, I was pretty up on my bougie drink game, too. But since then, I’ve definitely fallen out of practice. (And I had no idea that this particular product had gone viral on the “Aldi Aisle of Shame” account either, because I don’t follow it.) Still, the thought of buying four square ice cubes in a box at a grocery store - well, it just struck me as funny.
Second, let me clarify that I assumed a woodchuck was probably a groundhog, or some sort of large-ish creature in the rodent family, but I’d be lying if I said I was sure, because I’ve only ever heard them referred to as, well, you know… groundhogs. That’s why it struck me as unusual, and even funny, that they chose to use the less common term of “woodchuck” on their truck. Because of that distraction, I can’t tell you the name of the company that was also plastered in big letters on the side of the truck. All I could think about was that woodchuck, and how much wood he would chuck if he could.
Both of these things happened within a 24-hour period, and I thought they were both kind of funny. So, cue the social post, where I made an attempt at some light-hearted humor. And to my friends who jumped in to share the fun, or even kindly educate me on woodchucks and square ice cubes - I will always appreciate you!
But then came the keyboard warriors. All of the above comments and a few others (which have all been deleted) were posted by complete strangers who are not on my friends list. And I can’t help but wonder, first, who are they? And second, why do they care? The “Google” commenter even jumped back in the next day to remind me again, “in case I had forgotten,” that Google is free, and then went on to educate me in a very long, two-paragraph explanation on the science behind clear ice.
Also deleted. And omg.
Granted, none of these comments were super malicious or anything. They were just so unnecessary. And exhausting.
My job is social media. I work for a company with a unique product that has gone wildly viral on Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok. Our videos have collective views in the hundreds of millions, which translates to tens of thousands of comments, questions, and private messages. My job (among other things) is to answer/respond to them. Until recently, when I got some help with TikTok, it was ALL of them. The majority are legitimate questions, sometimes praise for our ingenuity, or at least somewhat polite inquiries. But when you're dealing with that kind of volume, there's bound to be a lot of negativity, too.
Day in and day out, I spend my workday dealing with endless streams of people who desperately need a hobby and who have never mastered the art of the “I’m not interested” scroll. Even though they’ve never seen, touched, or actually used our product, they feel the need to give the world their somehow so confident negative opinions in the most rude and hateful ways. I’m nice (most of the time) in my responses when I correct their misinformation. But I freely admit that even though I’m extremely grateful for the exposure and increased sales as a result of our virality, the constant drumbeat of negativity takes its toll, and I’m a little socially saturated.
Still, I bravely stepped out into my personal social sphere with what I thought was just a simple, silly bit of comic relief and posted something that I thought couldn’t possibly be divisive or upsetting to anyone.
*Cue Buzzer Sound*
WRONG.
And, sometimes, it makes me want to identify with that wood-chucking groundhog, and just chuck it all - you know? Just forget about all the good that comes with social connection and disappear into the anonymity bushes with Homer Simpson-like precision. (IYKYK)
But I’m no quitter! There will always be more fun, not-at-all-serious observations appearing on my social accounts, along with other random pictures and posts about my family, home, yard, and just life in general. (And no, dear Condescending Google Commenter, I will not always be looking everything up first.)
I believe that the world is a beautiful, crazy, fantastical, wondrous, endlessly fascinating, and sometimes very funny place. And I love being able to share it with friends and relatives far and wide. The negativity will always be there, but that’s what the delete button is for. So, the only thing I’ll be chucking is the hate from strangers. No response, no engagement. Just see ya later, hater!
If you’re old enough to recall life without smartphones, think back with me for a minute... Remember when you had to be brave enough to insult someone to their face?
Those were the days, huh?
July 25, 2026