I trusted the packet. That was my first mistake.

On Tuesday, September 29, Fac House had chicken tenders and mac and cheese for lunch.

Overjoyed, I went.

I was even more overjoyed when I saw that, instead of Heinz, they had “Fancy Tomato Ketchup” available for consumption. I do enjoy Heinz ketchup, but I was feeling a little old money that Tuesday because I had found a $20 bill in my backpack pocket. “Fancy” was the obvious choice because, yes, it was the only option, but I also deserved a classy excursion from my boring day.

I swiftly committed to the condiment, ripping open five packets at once, mouth watering in anticipation of whatever decadent tomato-based experience awaited me.

But something was wrong.

Instead of the mysterious gourmet condiment I had been promised, I was met with the dull, familiar taste of regular ketchup. Sweet. Tangy. Acidic. Suspiciously Heinz-adjacent.

It couldn’t be.

Surely my taste buds had betrayed me. So I tried again.

The same flavor.

I sat there in stunned silence at the table closest to the exit. My proximity to an escape route briefly tempted me to flee the premises entirely, but I knew I had stumbled upon something bigger than myself. I had to see this through.

And then, somewhere between my third chicken tender and a forkful of mac and cheese, the truth became impossible to ignore:

“Fancy Tomato Ketchup” is just regular ketchup.

Nothing fancy is happening here.

But if that is true, we are left with a much more troubling question: Why have they ordained this ketchup as “fancy”?

Who decided it deserved such a title? Is there an application process? A review board? A shadowy panel of Big Tomato executives deciding which ketchup packets are worthy of prestige?

I examined the packet for answers. None revealed themselves.

This is exactly what they want.

The word “fancy” creates expectations. Refinement. Elegance. Perhaps a tomato personally harvested from a small Italian estate. At minimum, I expected something distinguishable from the ketchup I had been eating since childhood.

Instead, Fac House handed me regular ketchup wearing a tiny tuxedo.

And apparently, this goes deeper. “Fancy” is actually a recognized USDA grade for ketchup, referring to characteristics like consistency, color, flavor, and tomato solids. Convenient explanation? Perhaps. But I have questions.

If “fancy” is merely an official ketchup classification, why does it sound so glamorous? Why was I not informed of this before risking five packets at once? And most importantly, how long has Big Tomato been benefiting from our ignorance?

I cannot definitively prove that Columbia Dining, the ketchup industry, and possibly the federal government are working together to make ordinary ketchup seem more luxurious than it is.

But I can prove one thing.

I ate the ketchup.

There was nothing fancy about it.

Draw your own conclusions.

Get excited: Stay tuned to hear my review of the Herr’s Honey Cheese Curls from Canteen Vending Services Inc.

Photo proof of condiment conspiracy via author