Ezra's coworker shambled into his cube with two plastic grocery bags. His coworker sat the grocery bags down, removed his coat, and proceeded to unpack -- lunch meat, cheese, danishes, yogurts, a box of Cap'n Crunch, and squished kaiser rolls.

It was 9:05 and already Ezra's head began the slow, dull ache that usually started to kick in after exchanging good mornings with the impossibly cheery Kerry at the front desk; a banality invoked sinus headache. The trigger was the squished kaiser rolls.

The problem, Ezra figured, was that if you happened to be the sort of person who knew something about everyday objects that most people tended to ignore entirely, then the systematic mistreatment of that object became not so much a pet peeve as a headache inducing reminder of the futility of progress in the modern age. It was a Hes moment -- damn dirty apes.

Ezra was, before his life turned taupe, a competitive national championship winning grocery bagger. The squished buns -- reminders that straightforward common sense and a moment or two of practical application could be forsaken by the pride-less and bored -- were headache inducing. The concept is simple -- build a wall or base from squarish or more solid items and place imminently squishable ones in places where they would not be systematically damaged either by the weight of other domestic items or a car seat.