The Great Cereal Crisis of 2025 And Other Breakfast Disasters

It started with a bowl of cereal.

That’s how most tragedies begin, right? Innocent. Ordinary. Full of misplaced optimism. It was a quiet Wednesday morning in August 2025, and all I wanted was a normal, peaceful breakfast. Instead, I got betrayal in a cardboard box.

You see, I had been saving my last bowl of Choco Comet Crunch, a limited-edition cereal that tastes like if a chocolate bar and a sugar comet had a baby. I’d been rationing it for a special occasion—namely, a morning when I actually woke up before 9 a.m., which is rarer than a solar eclipse and far less magical.

So there I was, half-awake, pajamas still clinging to me like regrets, reaching for that glorious box… only to find it was empty.

Empty.

Who does that? Who puts an empty cereal box back on the shelf? I’ll tell you who: someone who lives among us and has no soul.

My roommate, bless their chaotic heart, had finished the last of the Choco Comet Crunch and left the box like a cardboard tombstone to mock me. There was nothing left but stale cereal crumbs and shattered dreams.

Stage 1: Denial

I shook the box, just to be sure. Maybe, just maybe, gravity had misplaced a final cluster of hope. Nope. I even sniffed it—don’t judge me—but all I got was the faint scent of disappointment and synthetic cocoa.

I wasn’t ready to give up. I scanned the pantry like a desperate archaeologist looking for buried treasure. What I found was a crime scene.

One box of Raisin Bran, opened and stale. Raisins harder than my ex’s heart.

An off-brand oatmeal packet labeled “Original Flavor” (translation: tastes like wet cardboard).

A sad granola bar that had expired in 2023.

Stage 2: Bargaining

Maybe I could make a “breakfast smoothie”? I had a banana and some ice. That’s a smoothie, right? Wrong. What I made was a sad, cold mush that screamed “help me” with every sip.

I even considered ordering breakfast delivery. But $19.75 for scrambled eggs and toast? In this economy? Not today, Satan.

Stage 3: Rage

I texted my roommate a passive-aggressive message:

> “Hey 😊 just wondering if you happened to see the EMPTY CEREAL BOX YOU LEFT 😇 hope your day is as fulfilling as my breakfast isn’t.”

No response. Probably hiding.

At this point, I was so hungry I would’ve chewed through drywall if it had maple syrup on it. But then came…

Stage 4: Acceptance

There was only one option left: the emergency frozen waffles. They were hidden behind some mystery meat in the freezer. I sacrificed a finger to frostbite retrieving them, but I did it. I toasted those waffles like they were the last food on Earth.

I didn’t have syrup, so I used honey. I didn’t have butter, so I used peanut butter. I didn’t have dignity, so I ate them standing over the sink like a raccoon in a hoodie.

Breakfast Is a Battlefield

This wasn’t my first breakfast disaster, and I know it won’t be the last. There was the time I used salt instead of sugar in my coffee. Or when I bit into a boiled egg only to discover it was raw. Once, I dropped an entire pancake on my laptop keyboard. (It still smells like syrup every time I type the letter “P.”)

But The Great Cereal Crisis of 2025? That one hit different.

It reminded me that adulthood isn’t about taxes or rent or pretending to understand cryptocurrency. It’s about learning to survive when the only thing in your pantry is instant noodles and a single sad apple that’s turned slightly into vinegar.

Moral of the Story?

1. Always check the cereal box before emotionally committing to breakfast.

2. Hide your favorite snacks like they’re state secrets.

3. Never trust a roommate who says, “I’ll buy more tomorrow.”

If you’ve ever suffered a tragic breakfast fate, know you’re not alone. Somewhere out there, another poor soul is shaking an empty cereal box, questioning everything. And to that person I say: Stay strong. Eat waffles. And always have a backup plan.