Sandwiches, a Love Story. Also Drinks

When I bury my meaty jowls into the warm embrace of a well-constructed sandwich, I’m taken to a special place in my mind. A safe place free of worry, trouble, or strife. A happy place. Have you ever eaten something and thought “wow, I could eat this every day for the rest of my life and be perfectly content.” That food for me is a chicken sandwich with artichoke hearts, mozzarella, onions, and Aoili on a soft roll. Today as I was happily motorboating a chicken breast, I realized that you can learn quite a bit about someone by what he orders on his sandwiches. In fact, for 2013 I resolve to judge a man not by his words but by the contents of his sandwiches. Here are a few of those miserable shlubs.

The Philly Cheesesteak Sandwich: You are overweight, overly assertive man with her upon thine chest. You know about football, beer, women, and other things I don’t give a shit about. You wouldn’t say you’ve gotten your act completely together yet. You do not have Snapchat and Twitter is a waste of time. On a related note, you have never instagrammed a picture of this sandwich. You can quote at least three lines from The Godfather and there’s a very good chance your favorite movie is The Departed. You may be satisfied with your life but you can do better. Get your head in the game.

 

Avocado and Anything Sandwich: We can go one of two ways here. You are either a too-wholesome-my-body-is-a-temple idiot or you’re California dreamin’. Either your favorite song is by Norah Jones or by Sublime. Your favorite movie is either The Notebook/Miss Representation or it’s some indie arthouse piece of crap. You are eating this sandwich because you want to show your girlfriends how health-conscious you are or how easily you could assimilate into a west coast environment. In short, I hate you.

The Chain Restaurant Sausage, Egg, & Cheese Breakfast Sandwich: How do you sleep at night? Honestly up until I witnessed you ingesting this greasy, processed, filth festival I had no idea a living being could have such little self respect. Ask yourself, “what would your parents say if they caught you eating this?” You do not buy this sandwich without preceding it with an excuse. You just don’t. Oh and you know all your hopes and dreams from the day? Well, they’re all gone now. All you’re mentally and physically qualified to do for a good 24 hour period is to climb back into bed and involuntarily rock yourself to sleep with each breath you take your massive gut expands and contracts. Side note: This is my favorite sandwich of the bunch.

The Egg Salad Sandwich: You know something? I’m going to be honest with you. I’m a big guy. I’m not dashingly handsome. My dating options aren’t great. But even I would not date you. Here’s why: you have selected the single most pungent sandwich it is possible to make. And you know what the worst part is? You had other options. No venue which serves an egg salad sandwich doesn’t also serve other sandwiches with it. But you made the conscious choice to say “you know what? There is no chance I will find love here or at any time in the near future so I might as well pollute the air with my breathe which smells like a sulfur mine by the way.” And if I had to guess, you’re on your lunch break for what I’m going to predict is the least sexy job imaginable (i.e. actuary, librarian, CPA, phlebotomist) in an office which I guarantee you has a poster of a cat hanging from a rope with the words “hang in there” written on it. Look, I’m not saying you’re live is a stagnating dung-heap. Just spice things up a little

Well there you have it. Four sandwiches and their four most plausible consumers. I’m not saying this is everyone, I’m saying this is the case in most cases. Now to wrap things up, we need to talk about drinks. It typically costs anywhere between 5 and 20 cents to produce a soft drink at a restaurant. Now these places will usually go and charge $2.00 to $2.50 for these. What’s worse is that it also factors into the tip. I frequent the deli at the local Dominick’s (typing that out makes me realize exactly how pathetic that is, by the way), and there’s a sign on their soda fountain which reads “no free refills”. Well call the Goddamn police, because if you think that I’m not sucking every penny I can out of that thing, you could not be more wrong. So sue me.

~I’ll be feeding you seconds in no time

Michael

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