Is there anything more pointless than a soup spoon? The invention, certainly, of a half-witted entrepreneur who thought "why, I'll take a spoon, but adjust its proportions just enough to make it nearly impossible to use, and then market it as a tool for a meal whose consumption is already ungraceful to begin with." Soup spoons are a nuisance and an unnecessity, an obtuse, snub-nosed destroyer of polite meals and successful consumption of yogurt from a container. Their blunt, rounded shape makes it impossible to reach the bottom or corners of a bowl, and their awkwardly disproportionate depth make it an exhausting exercise for anyone with a normally-shaped mouth to reach their contents, necessitating either a loud slurp or an awkward twisting motion to extract the liquid in question. I'm shocked to think that wars have not been started over them; blood spilled as retaliation for a visiting dignitary's most uncouth gargle at a state dinner, the sure sign of disrespect.
Recently, I realized I might not be alone in this frustration. On a recent trip to Pret à Manger, I was in the midst of grabbing utensils when I remembered the British food chain's biggest flaw: they only supply soup spoons. "UGH, soup spoons," I grumbled, as I begrudgingly grabbed one, anticipating my imminent deskside struggle as I endeavored to reach the crevices of my Chobani Flip, only to come up dearly empty-spooned. "The world's worst invention." The employee restocking the station chuckled to my left. "Right? I hate them too!" she said. And really, shouldn't we all?