The Story of the Turkey Sandwich.

 A TALE OF SADNESS AND WOE!

keh-kaaah!

 So a few weeks ago we were under a severely tight deadline at work, which meant I had been skipping a lot of meals to do me some quality time with the wacom.  So I was starving pretty much.

I thought maybe I could slip out for a little bit and get some lunch, but I didn’t want to get lunch just anywhere

I wanted to get it at a special downtown cafe.

This cafe is totally fancy. 
They have oil paintings hanging on the walls.
They have those fancy tinkly wossnames hanging from the ceiling.
They have those fancy swirly wossnames across the floor.  (rugs?)

It’s fancy.

 Ok, in this drawing it looks ghetto.  But trust me…this place is fancy.

Best of all, they have the World’s Best Turkey Sandwich.  It’s seriously amazing.  It’s so juicy you could eat it with a straw.

Here’s that picture again to convince you.  (The sandwich is in color in real life.)

You know in that wardrobe movie how the kid eats Turkish delight and then craves it forever?  That’s this sandwich.  I had it once and I’ll never go back.

Anyway even though the deadline was pretty tight I managed to slip away…

…and found this…

The line was HUGE!

 I was craving that turkey sandwich pretty bad though, so I got in line anyway.

 And waited.

 And waited…

 And waited some more.

 An old couple stood in front of me, and as we neared the great plains or so, the guy was like,

 “I want the turkey sandwich!”

And his wife was like,

 “No, dear.  You want the oatmeal salad.”

And the guy was like,

 “Oh.”

A quick rundown of the layout at this place:

It’s cafeteria-style, which means you order (1) your sandwich gets toasted (2) and you walk past (3) and (4) if you don’t want anything else.  But, see, if you want a salad, you go straight to (4), you don’t bother with (1) or (2).  Got it?  This is important to the story so pay attention.

When it was my turn at last, I ordered at (1).

Ok remember the toaster?  They put the sandwich in and it comes out toasted, due to witchcraft…Mom told me that’s how crock pots work so I would (logically) assume the same thing worked with toasters.  The point is, the bread gets toasted and jumbled up inside it and you’re not sure exactly who’s sandwich it is.

 So I’ll be darned if the guy stuck around in the sandwich line instead of going to (4)!

 And the server guy was like,

 “What would you like on your turkey sandwich?”

The old guy was like,

 “Uuuuh….”

“Uhhhonions…and uh, bacon, and uh, tomatoes…and mayonnaise…”

I stared in horror as my sandwich was massacred before my eyes.

 
Mayonnaise!  Mayonnaise!! Why??

 And given away.

And I was like, NO!  STOP!  That’s my sandwich!!  You’re supposed to eat the oatmeal salad!  That’s MY sandwich!!

But I couldn’t.  I just…stood there. 

Here’s a shot of me just standing there from the back.

 Here’s a wide shot of it.

 And here’s a bird’s eye shot of it

 …just to show you how traumatizing this was!

 And then the old dude just sat there for a moment blinking at the sandwich.

 And then he left.

 And the server guy was like, “What sandwich did you order?”

 And I was like:

 See, because I couldn’t tell him that he mixed up the order, because that would make him feel bad, and I couldn’t take it back from the old guy, because that would make him feel bad, and I couldn’t have them take more time to make me another sandwich because that would make everyone who’d waited forever crankier than bees.

So I was just like:

“I’m not hungry!” 

 …and then I fled.

 and then I cried in the bathroom.

…but the bathroom had sofas and a television, so, okay.

I worked for the rest of the deadline on an empty tummy.  I don’t remember if we made the deadline or not…that’s just how traumatizing it all was.

However looking back, I realize I can’t feel too sorry for myself.  Whenever I think of the old guy, I see this:

It’s probably the first real food he’s had in years.  Hope you loved it, old dude. <3

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