There's a lot of pressure as an adult to fit in. Wear the latest fashion. Frequent the hottest clubs. Pay for only the finest of prostitutes. It can be stressful just to walk out your front door; who knows what looks of judgement you might garner if your ensemble isn't 'on point', 'on fleek', or at least even 'on properly'?
What few realise, however, is that we've been training for this all of our lives. From your very first day of school, your reputation is staked on what you're repping. Transformers sweater? Cool. DuckTales backpack? Nice. Milli Vanilli pencil case? Nope, you done fucked up. Now you're the smelly kid, and to even acknowledge your presence is social suicide. Girl, you know it's true.
Lunches also played a significant role in your standing in the classroom community. Your parents diligently assembled what they believed to be a balanced, nutritious meal (or they gave you a couple of bucks for the canteen because they didn't love you). But it wasn't just food. It was currency. You may have had to swap items around like cigarettes at a prison. If you weren't packing some serious swag, you would probably starve. So many tiny bodies strewn about the playground. At least, that's how it was in the 90s.
But before you even unveiled that bounty, you were making a statement.
If you had an awesome lunchbox, it put you in a good position for success. If not, then fuck you, kid - you would never achieve greatness.
So just from seeing this, you know that I was lit af.
When the Ninja Turtles began losing steam in the mid-90s, Sonic the Hedgehog picked up the ball and ran with it in a manner that was decidedly expedient. There was an unfortunate lack of gamers at my school, so he didn't universally blow minds (nor did my Bubsy Halloween costume in 1993, with the green player two exclamation mark because I was avant garde). But people knew of him, and knew that he was cool. So this lunchbox served me well as a starter piece.
It features Sonic running as usual, with the typical smug grin on his face. Robotnik hovers behind, looking rather displeased. It could be because he appears to have misplaced his glasses, and cannot see where he is going at the moment. He shakes his fist in a furious rage, though something about the angle of it makes me think that it's all a misunderstanding, as he might just be using an invisible bath brush.
The trademark aesthetic has been captured well, with the familiar checkerboard design and even a loop-de-loop in the background for good measure. I can't help but wonder where it is that Sonic is actually running from, because there's nothing but a lone column and an endless ocean behind him. We all know that Sonic really fucking hates water, so it's unlikely he emerged from there. Plus, he doesn't look wet at all. Is this the start of the zone, perhaps? Maybe the precursor to a boss fight? Is the Chao Garden coming back??
We may never know the answer to any of these. Except for the last one, where the answer is no, because Sega hates us all. I asked them myself. They told me to 'please leave, sir, you're upsetting the receptionist'.
It used to have a thermos in it that, near as I recall, sported the Sonic logo. That thermos has since gone missing, proving that I was absolutely fucking hopeless with accessories. Misplaced weapons are one thing, but the fact that I have lost something that was literally stored inside something else is a huge indictment. In my defence, it may have been cursed.
Once I debuted this bad boy here, I was the king. The Flintstones had long since run out of steam in the '90s, with each attempted film reboot simply dragging it deeper into the tar pits. I loves me some Rick Moranis, but fuck me, casting him as Barney Rubble is whack.
However, this lunchbox transcends the appeal of its franchise. This is not just a Flintstones lunchbox. This is a lunchbox from the Flintstones. By using it, you were a fucking Flintstone, officially. Every time I pulled it out, I would declare, "Wilma, I'm home", to rousing laughter from my classmates.
At least, I remember them laughing. It could be revisionist history.
In actuality, I don't know if we ever saw Fred sporting anything that remotely resembled this stone and bone motif. From what I've garnered, his lunchbox was actually made of wood or ambiguous blue shit because surely nobody will be paying attention to his fucking lunchbox.
But my reign on top was not just based on pure aesthetics, oh no. Though the delightful lunchbox drew in the crowd, my true popularity would come from what secrets it held within. This was around the time that my parents had happened upon Squeezits. Twist off the lid, clutch that sumbitch with all your might, and suck the very essence from its noggin.
Everyone knew they were incredible, that much was plain to see. But I discovered a bizarre feature that made me everyone's best friend during lunchtime: after you'd pop the lid off, a small amount of juice was still in there. I don't know the science behind it, I dare not question it. I instead embraced this curiosity, gifting the lid to whomever I chose on that particular day.
That's right. I was the fucking Squeezit lord, and everyone around me became my loyal subjects, desperate for just a taste of my royal nectar. I was smooth, too. I would drag the whole thing out, and I wouldn't just dish it out to my friends. I had the hots for Kathleen, and damn man, she wanted the D.
D obviously standing for drink. Come on, guys. Keep up.
I can't remember how long this went on for, but to this day, it remains the coolest I have ever been. I'm scarcely a fraction of the man I was back then, but at least for that brief, fleeting time, I was immortal.
Despite this, my sister won the lunchbox wars handily. Not even the combined forces of Sonic the Hedgehog and Fred Flintstone could come near the kind of legendary branding she had at her disposal. Hers still lurks in a cupboard, dormant and untouched. Its only purpose in this existence is to mock my inferiority, and to gaze upon it brings me such incredible envy.
I am so fucking jealous.
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