The box was so smooth.
It was the first thing that I noticed about the product. The graphics had that kind of simplicity to them that stopped just shy of elegance, entering a territory of homely. It was a design that was friendly enough to be marketed to grade schoolers.
I ran my fingertips over the surface of the package, reveling in the variation of smooth and bumpy, glossy to matte.
Flicking out my pocket knife, I made a show of it for the camera. Then, I split the tape holding the box shut and began the process of unpacking each of the individually wrapped packages. All of them had the same friendly style of artwork with a pleasant green and cream color palette.
“Naturally raised,” I read off of the front of the package. The silhouette of a person on the front held a thumb upright to themselves on the front cover. “Look at this, chat.”
I held the plastic wrapped sausages up to the camera so that they could view the quality of the product along with me. From the corner of my eye, I could see the chatbox scrolling with text as my viewers chattered ambiently to one another, following along with my unboxing.
“I promised I would show you all what they sent.”
I flipped the package over so they could read the back of the strip of paper that advertised the meat products of the Happy Heart Family. The front of the label stared at me with that little silhouette and the Happy Heart slogan punctuated in its white text: “Goodness starts with you!”
“This is definitely the best one I’ve had,” I explained as I pulled more plastic wrapped items out from the box to show off.
Until not that long ago, I had been a small time streamer. My viewing had hovered consistently around maybe a few dozen every stream, so I hadn’t really expected to hear from a company as large as Happy Hearts.
I caught a glimpse of my viewer count as I stared at the screen beneath the camera lens: over a thousand. I tried to stifle the lurch of excitement that surged inside of me, tickling my stomach from the inside as though I had downed a whole fizzy drink in one go. It still felt too early to be reliable–the excitement over my new sponsor could wear off just as easily as it had come–but ever since my agreement to endorse their products, I had seen a substantial uptick in viewership.
I was staring at a slab of thick cut bacon with a particularly juicy rib of fat when a comment from one of my viewers in the chatbox caught my eye.
“Cook something on stream with it?” I read out loud. “Do you guys want to see that?”
There was always a bit of latency in feedback. I tried not to get too excited while I waited for the question to reach my audience and for their responses to filter in. A moment passed with the usual chatter of viewers and their back and forth exchanges before the chat flooded with the answer that I had been looking for.
“Yes, absolutely, do it…” I trailed off, watching the messages pop up one after another. “Alright guys, you asked for it!”
I swapped my view to my handheld camera in the stream management software, swiping the camera off of my desk and bringing the sealed pack of bacon along with me. It wasn’t the first time I had done a vlog-style cooking stream, but it was the first time I would be showcasing the product live for everyone.
Thankfully, my kitchen was clean and the dishes stored where they belonged. All I had to do was gather the pan and toss the bacon on the stove to get it going. I hummed the tune for the Happy Hearts’ commercial to myself as it began to sizzle, wafting out an incredible, smoky aroma.
“Guys, you have no idea… I swear, it even smells better than all the other bacon out there.” I looped the commercial song over and over, humming it to myself as I watched the bacon crisp up. The tune was so catchy–it had a way of getting lodged in my mind.
Occasionally, I glanced back at the scrolling chatbox on the under cabinet flip down tv, keeping an eye on the antics of the crowd that was spending time with me. A name in a vibrant color text popped into the chat, displaying an authentic verification badge by it. I felt my breath freeze in my throat.
“HappyHeartsOfficial, thank you so much for the sub!” I read off, staring at the name for a long time. The words came out a bit perplexed.
My chat was already asking the same question that had exploded into the forefront of my mind, but the user hadn’t replied to them yet.
“Are you like… the actual Happy Hearts channel?” I pulled the crisped bacon off of the pan and set it on a paper towel on top of the plate to let the oil drain away. “Like legit or something?”
Yes, we are the official Happy Hearts channel. We would like to extend our sincere excitement that you are showcasing our product. You are doing an excellent job!
My heart was hammering in my ears, blood rushing into my head and face. I tried to still my breathing by taking several deep breaths, but it felt like my chest was being squeezed too tightly. I distracted myself by double checking that the stove was turned off. It took all of my composure to play it cool.
“Always make sure that you turn off the heat when you’re done cooking, everyone,” I explained idly, my voice sounding a bit far away to me. I made myself busy draining the oil off into a heat safe cup and setting the pan aside to cool. “We don’t want any fires or anything.”
I brought the plate of bacon over to the main camera and leaned against the countertop to scroll through the chat. My followers were freaking out over the presence of the official profile in chat, spamming with emojis to express their overflowing excitement.
“Thank you so much, Happy Hearts!” I pushed the thoughts of nervousness somewhere outside of the periphery of my attention for the time being. I still had a job to do, after all. “Your product is absolutely incredible. I’m stoked to be able to showcase it!”
I lifted a piece of crispy bacon in a gesture of cheers to the camera and took a bite. A salty flavor exploded into my mouth and I felt my eyes roll shut in over the top appreciation of the taste of it. Maybe a part of it was for the sake of the camera, but it really was better than any other bacon I had ever had.
Before I had become so vocal about the product, I had spent many shopping trips going out of my way to find the product in stores near me. With their sponsorship and a steady stream of free products being sent my way, I would be surprised if I ever had to make such a store run again, but I would have gone out of my way for it if I had to.
We hope that you do not mind the informal nature of it, but our team was too excited to wait. The company was hoping that you might be interested in taking a tour of our factory so that we might officially welcome you to the family.
My heart leapt into my throat and I inhaled a chunk of partially masticated bacon. I coughed heavily, clearing the meat from my windpipe. My chat went absolutely ballistic, nearly scrolling too fast for me to follow.
Maybe it was an unorthodox way to approach it, but I couldn’t bring myself to mind.
“Wait, no kidding. Are you serious?” I tried to calm my racing heart by nibbling at the bacon, more cautious this time not to inhale while swallowing. I had to remind myself that I was, after all, still a professional. “That would be incredible!”
Ideas of running into executives at the tour and hitting it off so well that they welcomed me into becoming the actual face of the company flashed through my mind. I could almost see myself emblazoned on the packaging, replacing the little silhouette with my thumb pointing back and declaring that, “Goodness starts with you!”
In some version of my future, I was already in their commercials. Instead of a modern suburban housewife picking up food at the grocery store, it was me making the choice to select Happy Hearts from the refrigerated section or the meat counter. My stomach tightened into a knot of desire.
We are pleased that you are excited. We will send your formal invitation shortly.
I beamed at the screen and spent the rest of my time live gushing over each of the products from my box and where you could find them before putting them away in my fridge. The HappyHeartOfficial channel remained in my viewers list the entire time, watching in silence while I showcased their wares.
Finally, I wished my audience a good night and hit the little button on the software that said “End Stream”, closing out my channel. I was nervous about the interaction in the chat and the silence that followed my stream, but I was also undeniably excited and ready for whatever would come next.
I returned to my room and plucked the little abandoned pocket knife from my desk, turning the Happy Heart box over to slice it open and break it down. As I did, a slip of cardboard that had covered the bottom of the box tumbled out. From beneath that slip, a large plastic envelope also tumbled out onto the floor.
I discarded the cardboard and stared at the plastic envelope. A little white folded paper was taped to it. I plucked it off of the plastic sleeve, opened it, and began to read.
“Thank you for becoming a part of the Happy Heart family!
As you already know, every decision you make is impactful. Choosing Happy Hearts products not only improves your life, but a portion of our proceeds from every sale goes towards charitable donations to better the lives of others.
Not only does our company send proceeds to charities, but we also donate wigs to Cancer patients in need across the world. Every time you select a Happy Hearts product, a patient in need receives a free wig.
As a member of our family and a streamer that engages in the Cosplay community, we have included a sample of one of our wigs, a new product that will be released to market soon. If you enjoy this product, please tell your family and friends who may be in need of a wig to choose Happy Hearts today.
Goodness starts with your choices. That is why we at Happy Hearts believe that it all starts with you!”
I couldn’t read the little flourishing squiggle of a line that denoted the signature, but when I opened the plastic envelope, a brand new wig slid out of the packaging.
I cosplayed often for my stream and even had a profile on social media to showcase my outfits, so it wouldn’t have been difficult to gather that information. But the personalization felt incredible. Whoever was on their outreach team was doing a hell of a job at their research.
What surprised me most, though, was not only the quality of the wig, but that it was exactly the color I needed as a base for the newest cosplay I was working on. I trailed my fingertips through the strands, reveling in how soft it was.
There was no way they could have known about that. I had been purposefully withholding any information about what it was from my viewers while I was working on it. It wouldn’t be finished for a while yet, since it was still in its early stages of progress and I wanted it to be a surprise.
“Coincidence,” I muttered to myself. But a lucky coincidence.
My phone chimed softly, interrupting my thoughts, and I set the wig down on my desk and opened up my notifications. An email stared back at me, emblazoned with the official Happy Hearts insignia.
“You have been invited…”
—
They sent a limo to pick me up, which was both exciting and overwhelming at the same time.
Since I was alone in the back seat with my thoughts and an assorted tray of snacks and drinks on offer from the company, the drive felt long and silent. The driver didn’t speak to me unless I spoke to him first, so I sat in relative quiet and nibbled on dried meats coupled with a pairing of cheeses.
Through the winding city streets, the limo took me across and then out of town, into the communities in between the bustling hearts of two metropolitan locales. This area was somewhere in between farming and industrial land, where splotches of fields filled with cows were set up right next to enormous plots of land hidden away behind industrial chainlink and barbed wire. Behind these fences, huge electricity poles sprouted out like weeds along with a tangled mass of cables and strange machinery jutting off of square, boring looking buildings.
I saw the factory long before we reached it: a huge mass of cylindrical shapes that stretched up into the blue skies. Fluffy plumes of white smoke wafted up out of the stacks. The limo stopped at the gates only briefly before we continued through them, the security guard eyeing me cautiously as we passed.
When we stopped at the front entrance, the factory guide was already waiting for me, his smile wide enough to threaten to fully envelop his face.
“Hello, hello!” He welcomed me warmly, arms spread out to the sides as he opened the car door for me. “My name is Richard, I will be your tour guide.” Richard took me through the front entrance, where we spent some time watching a welcoming video that went over the history of the company.
It was a bit of a dry watch and I felt my eyes drooping throughout the duration of it. I had to shake myself awake several times, reminding myself that I needed to behave in a fitting way for a sponsored face of the company. Richard watched pleasantly along with me, his eyes trained on the screen, a congenial smile tipping the corners of his mouth.
When it was over, he had me suit up in a factory safe outfit that covered my clothes, shoes and hair.
With my new outfit protecting the merchandise in production, we stepped out onto the factory catwalks overlooking the machinery operating below and I felt the first surge of wonder wash over me. The dry video was forgotten in the room behind me. Below us, huge machines churned great vats of product and workers dressed in the same uniform as I wore marched around the factory floor with a calm certainty. Each of them seemed to know what they were doing and where they needed to be at any given time, moving around each other like a well oiled machine.
There was no strong smell to the air, aside from the industrial odor of the machines burning through electricity. I had expected to be catching wafts of the product as it was being made, but perhaps the cooler temperature in the room limited the smell.
We continued through room after room similar to the first one: where the bacon was processed, where the sausage was processed, where cuts of steak were trimmed, the quality control room–
The list went on and on.
My favorite may have been the smoking room, where I got the smell I had been looking for. Savory and salty, I felt my mouth start to water as soon as the scent washed over me. We watched from afar as a batch of sausages were withdrawn from the smoking chamber on an enormous metal rack on wheels. They pulled a link fresh off of the rack, slicing it open and letting me sample some.
It tasted a bit different from the product that had been sent to me, with a mildly strange texture and flavor that I couldn’t put my finger on. This, they assured me, was because this sausage had just finished the first of a three round process and still had several other steps to obtain its final flavor and texture profile.
We continued until we reached the pièce de résistance: the kitchen.
Here, they showcased all of the different flavor profiles that they were currently testing for the products: bacon flavored with maple, garlic, or truffle and sausages with different seasoning blends, some of them mild and some of them spicy.
They even had different meals and dinners using their products that they were currently testing prior to manufacturing. I was most excited about these and silently cursed the fact that I had signed an NDA when I had entered the factory. These meals were still unannounced and not on the shelves yet, so I wouldn’t be able to rave about them to my viewers no matter how much I might want to.
I was so full of the samples from the kitchen, I hadn’t expected them to load up several boxes of product to send me home with. They assured me that I wouldn’t have to carry them through the rest of the tour and that they would be waiting for me when I was ready to leave.
By the time we passed through the kitchen doors and on to the final leg of the adventure, I felt like I had run a marathon. My eyes were tired and my brain groggy from so much salt and fat and my legs were aching from all of the walking and stairs.
I was grateful when the last segment offered seats on a platform that moved along a track. I sat down in the front row and the safety bar came down across my lap. My guide took up a station on the front edge of the platform and spoke into the microphone on his lapel.
With a small jerk of movement, the platform began to travel along its track. We passed into a section of hallway where a long window gave us a view of the newest section of the factory floor below us.
“As you can see, we have now entered into the processing section of the plant.” Richard explained. “Below us is the part of the floor where they handle the meat in the early stages.”
Workers in uniform were roughly trimming chunks of steaks into equal sections. A large cart was being pushed towards the rows of trimming tables and the driver pulled back a sheet of rubber tarp from over the top. But the platform moved behind a piece of machinery that blocked the view and the trimming tables were left behind us.
The platform continued along into the next room. Racks of ribs were being trimmed to the right shape and size and the bone flecks rinsed off by handlers. They looked perfect, with thick lines of meat and fat along the bones. The shape of the racks were smaller than I had expected, though. These must have been pork ribs, I wagered, rather than beef.
I suddenly felt the urge to set up a bar-b-que when I got home.
The ribs room disappeared into the darkness of the hallway as the platform continued its trek. The next glass partition brought us to a room where they were trimming the meat off of the bones themselves to send to the trimming stations.
The legs hanging in the refrigerated room seemed a bit longer than ones I had seen before. The hooves were already trimmed off, so it was hard to tell what the proportions were meant to be. Perhaps they were leaner pigs? I craned in my seat to try and watch the workers as the platform continued its steady movement onwards, but the room disappeared behind us.
When the glass partition showed the refrigeration unit in the next room, my stomach sank. It wasn’t cattle or pork that were hanging in the refrigeration unit at all.
In the glass of the mirror, I could faintly make out the image of Richard standing silently on the edge of the platform, watching my reflection staring back at him. He turned away from the glass and I felt his eyes fix on me. But I couldn’t stop staring through the glass window. The platform shuddered to a stop and I surreptitiously tested the lap bar to see if I could push it back. But it was locked into place, holding me in my seat.
“As you can see, we were so excited that we just had to give you the full tour,” he said.
His teeth now seemed too white to me, his lips too wide in a smile that threatened to fully consume his face. My mouth went dry.
“We know how much you love our product,” he continued. “And we are ready to commit to a more long term deal. But first, there is something that we need to know.”
With a great deal of effort, I dragged my eyes away from the glass, meeting his stare for the first time since we had boarded the platform. I swallowed hard and managed to croak out the words that were just on the edges of my lips.
“What’s that?”
“Are you ready to be a part of our family?” he asked. “Or a part of the product?”