My Son, the Labour Organiser

A few months ago, the  chocolate  I use introduced their "New, Easy Break" baking chocolate bar. It is still the same price, but contains 4 ounces rather than 8. I don't know who they think they are fooling. Look, prices go up, I get that. Re-designing the product so that I need to store more packets in my already crowded pantry is silly. Make the price be the price, and stop all this nonsense of shrinking the product size.

Today, I found myself at a grocer I've never shopped before (as our regular store is being picketed in a labour dispute, and I sure as hell am not about to cross a picket). Instead of three minutes to our regular place, this took seven. Hardly a drive across town. Well, imagine my happy face when I saw they still had the old, 8 ounce chocolate packets for less than the new ones. I checked the date, and they're good well into next year. I bought  quite a lot. By the time we get through with Halloween, Christmas, Birthdays, and the like, I'll run through most of that stash. I would have bought it all, but that seemed unfair, if someone just ran out and needed a packet to make something.

We get to the checkout, and the elderly cashier asks Danny if he likes chocolate, seeing the stack of packets. He launches into an outraged tirade about how companies will do anything to make money, how they are misleading thieves, and how we wouldn't even be shopping here in the first place if our regular grocery chain wasn't "exploiting their workers." I didn't think this would be a good time to point out that the people who harvest the cocoa are among the most exploited workers in the world. I just let him continue.

"How old is he?" the poor woman wanted to know.
"Eight and a half."
"I'd vote for him."

So as she rang our order, they had a little chat about living wages, job security, and solidarity with the workers. What she didn't know is that this kid presented me with a "contract" and union membership card he drew when he was about five. Some kids draw cartoons, mine drew up a contract. He thought I wasn't being fairly compensated for the housework, and cooking.

I had to get little Hoffa out of there before he strolled into the break room, and tried organising everyone.