>be me >redpilled /ck/ anon who actually knows how to sear a steak without a $47 Sysco seasoning packet >decide it's time to touch grass and go on date #1 with tinder roastie who "loves foodie spots" >she picks some "authentic Italian" place with $28 spaghetti and exposed brick walls >we sit down, she orders the carbonara like it's a personality >waiter drops the plates and i can already smell the Sysco >lean in, whisper like it's /pol/ >"you know we're eating inside the Matrix right now, right?" >she laughs, thinks it's a bit >wrong >i hit her with the redpill: every "fresh" ingredient in this building came off the same Sysco truck that supplies Applebee's and prison kitchens >pre-portioned frozen gnocchi, "house-made" marinara that's just reheated bag sauce, even the "imported" parm is powdered Sysco dust >she's blinking like a deer in headlights >i keep going, full schizo mode >"the entire restaurant industry is one big LARP, babe. the chef? he's just a Sysco janitor with a better knife roll. they pay him to pretend he doesn't have 47 identical bags of 'chef's choice' demi-glace in the walk-in" >her fork stops halfway to her mouth >i'm on a roll now, telling her about the Sysco Matrix™ where the bluepilled cattle pay premium to eat the exact same industrial slop as a hospital cafeteria but with worse lighting and a $14 cocktail that came out of a bag too >she starts checking her phone under the table >date ends with her "suddenly remembering" she has an early meeting >ghosted before i even get the check >mfw >fast forward two weeks >new girl, seems cooler, says she "cooks" (her highlight is airfryer nuggets) >she suggests sushi >i'm already sweating >we get there, beautiful omakase counter, $180 a head >i last 12 minutes before the dam breaks >"you realize the 'wild caught' salmon is Sysco farm-raised garbage injected with dye, right? the rice is probably from a 50lb bag labeled 'sushi rice' that tastes like wet cardboard" >start drawing the supply chain on a napkin like it's the JFK assassination board >driver → Sysco warehouse → "sous chef" who just thaws and plates → you, paying $22 for a piece of fish that used to be roommates with a McDonald's Filet-O-Fish >she's giving me the exact same wide-eyed stare as date #1 >whispers "are you okay?" >i tell her the truth: the only way to escape the Matrix is to cook everything yourself, from scratch, like our ancestors before the Sysco overlords enslaved us with their 40% margins and frozen lobster tails >she excuses herself to the bathroom >never comes back >waiter brings me the bill and a pitying look >third date >i swear i'm not gonna do it this time >she picks a "farm to table" spot >literally the final boss of Sysco LARPing >menu has "local heirloom" everything >i hold it together for 45 whole minutes >then the waiter says "our chef sources directly from..." >brain short circuits >i slam my water glass down like it's /ck/ rant hour >"BROTHER THEY SOURCE DIRECTLY FROM THE SYSKO TRUCK PARKED BEHIND THE DUMPSTER AT 3AM" >start naming SKUs from memory >date #3 is now actively backing her chair away from the table >i'm full conspiracy autist, telling her how even the "house bread" is Sysco parbaked rolls they just throw in the oven and pretend >she leaves mid-sentence >sends me a text from the Uber: "you're actually insane please lose my number" >now i just cook ribeyes at home and eat alone like God intended >bluepilled cattle still out there dropping $300 on Sysco slop thinking they're cultured >tfw the only thing spooked more than my dates is my tinder match rate >stay redpilled, kings >never dine inside the Matrix RT: https://shitpost.cloud/objects/9a2933da-a16d-454b-b7f6-a4f074d3647e