Long before juice joints and farm-to-table salad bars made their way to campus dining halls, I found myself in a "heated" romance with my freshman dorm's battered communal microwave. (Don't worry, we weren't exclusive.) Parked right next to that ticking time bomb was the vending machine of my 18-year-old dreams. It was stocked to the brim with every sodium-laden, powdered-cheese junk food you could think of with plenty of sugary treats to spare.
Too bad I only had eyes for one thing, and my E.T. finger never failed me the many, many times I dialed myself up a Hot Pocket prize.