Delicious Sandwich

In this moment I have a deep hankering for a sandwich.  

I'm in the kitchen looking through my refrigerator.  There's mayonnaise and some pickles...  that's a good start.  I don't have any bread.  Maybe I'll make some bread?  That's a great idea!  Okay, so I have this quick almond bread recipe that I can use to quickly whip up a couple of slices using the microwave and toaster, but I don't have any baking powder.

What am I going to do?

My stomach is growling so loudly.

Have you ever played a record backwards?  My stomach is making sounds like that.

Think, Orval, think...

There's a Subway sandwich shop just down the street from me.  I'm not really a fan of Subway since I learned recently that one of the ingredients in their bread is a wood pulp derivative common in the production of yoga mats.

My stomach is listening to my thoughts.  It hears the word Subway.  The sounds of a record being played backwards in the pit of my stomach are increasing.

Get dressed.

No, I don't have time for that.  Coat, pants, shoes, wallet, keys.

Good enough.

I'm out the door, walking down the street.  It's warm outside.  As I walk, I pass a stray dog.  He looks at me with sadness in his eyes.  I stop to pet him.  He's such a friendly dog.  He looks recently groomed too.  Well, the absence of odor on his clean coat makes me think he's loved, but he clearly desires my company.  

My stomach angrily growls again for attention.

Okay, I'm walking again with my new companion.  He's clearly happy to have found a new friend.  We've just arrived in front of the Subway shop.  I speak to my new friend, "okay, buddy, you're gonna have to stay out here for a minute, alright?"  He looks at me, cocking his head slightly to his left.  He sits back on his rear, looking at me as I enter the shop.

A cheerful young man greets me at the counter with a muffled burp, "Good morning, Sir, welcome to Subway. How can I help you?"

"Good morning!  I'd like a Cold Cut Combo, please."

"Yes Sir.  Bread?"  He begins to ask me about the ingredients for the sandwich.

"Thank you, I'd like whole wheat, please."  I'm remembering the article I read about yoga mats.  I imagine eating ham, salami, and bologna sandwiched between two slices of yoga mat.

"Will that be six inches or a foot-long, Sir?"

"I'll take the foot-long, please.  Thank you. Could you double the meat in the sandwich, please?"  I'm thinking about my friend waiting patiently outside the shop for me.

"Sure, Sir. Good for you, Sir."

And then I notice his fingernails.

In my life, in that moment, I cannot remember the last time I saw fingernails that filthy, and he isn't wearing any gloves.  His fingernails look like he used them to literally scrape funk off the floor.  I look down at my feet.  The floor is filthy.  What am I doing here? Oh my God, what am I going to do?  I check-in with my inner stomach demon.  It's silent.

I look up at the man.  I notice other things:  He hasn't shaved in a couple of days.  He is wearing a shirt that needs laundering.  As he moves, I can see sweat stains in his shirt armpits.  This cannot be happening to me.

I hear a bark.

My new friend is telling me he's still waiting for me.

I look into the man's eyes.  I see he's sincerely engaged in making this sandwich.  As he crosses between the sandwich prep station to a cabinet across the aisle, I can see his shoes.  One of them is held together with what looks like duct tape.  He opens the cabinet and retrieves a box that contains plastic sandwich bags with the Subway logo on them.  He finishes making my sandwich.

I pay for the sandwich.

I'm now standing outside the sandwich shop with my friend.  He is looking at me, expectantly.

We begin to walk.  We walk back in the direction of my place, and we continue on to the local park.  It's such a beautiful day.  The sun has wrapped us in its warmth.   There's a nice picnic table off in the distance.  I make my way to the table and sit down.

My friend has decided to sit next to me.  He is there, sitting back on his haunches.  His bushy tail is slowly sweeping the ground behind him.  I look him in his eyes.  He looks back at me with his head cocked to the side again. He gently barks, as if to say, "well, what are you waiting for?  Share that thing with me already."

I look at the beautiful sandwich in front of me.

In my mind I can see the funk on the man's fingers back at the Subway shop.  My eyes zoom in on the funk and I imagine eating it.  My stomach speaks for the first time since I noticed the man's fingernails back at the Subway shop.  It makes a sound that I can only characterize as saying, "if you eat that, you're going to get a surprise that you don't like from me!"

I look back at my friend and quickly remove and unwrap the sandwich.  I lay it out, next to my friend on the ground, opening up the sandwich to expose the ham, salami and bologna.  My friend launches himself into it with a spirit of enthusiastic determination that I find has left my initial desire to eat.  I can hear him chomping down on the delicious sandwich as I slowly rise and begin my walk back to the house.

Ham, salami and bologna?  I don't need that anyway.

Back inside my home, I go back to the refrigerator.  I pull out the mayonnaise and pickles and begin to pace my kitchen.  My pace quickens as I walk around and around and around the kitchen island.

I'm hyperventilating.

In my left hand I'm holding a jar of Hellman's mayonnaise.  In the other hand, a jar of Vlasic dill pickles.

I think I've lost my mind.

Comments

  1. Oh, my, Orval, I want to know what you finally ate! What a story you wove here. You are right about combining filthy nails, yoga mats, a dog and compassion--they became a lovely sandwich story. I am guessing the dog didn't eat much of the yoga mats either. This is a keeper.

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  2. This sounds like the beginnings of a really humorous novel...I'm picturing a Detective Columbo type protagonist. And mayonnaise and pickles conjures up memories of my refrigerator contents of my early twenties. A fun Slice!

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