Sandwich Hero Saves The Day

, , , , , , | | Working | July 10, 2019

(At the expense of buying a house anytime soon, I pop in to a local cafe for an avocado and egg breakfast while out running some errands. They make your sandwiches to order here, and I see the woman in front of me getting a delicious-looking creation of Turkish bread, the mushy green stuff, poached eggs, cheese, and bacon. I locate it on the menu and excitedly order it from the other employee who has come to take my order. She crinkles her nose when I order, but I don’t think much of it, too excited for my mega sandwich. After the bread toasts, she plops it on the counter and gingerly spreads maybe 10% of the avocado the woman in front of me got. My hopes fall.)

Me: “Sorry, could I have a bit more, please?”

Employee: “Ugh.”

(She adds maybe one more teaspoon of avocado to the bread.)

Me: *attempting to lighten the mood and get that holy grail sandwich into my mouth* “I just really want what she’s having.” *points to the woman in front of me, who laughs while clutching her Nirvana sandwich*

Employee: “Oh, gross.”

(The other employee speaks up.)

Sandwich Hero: “[Employee], come on. You know how much goes on a sandwich.”

(My sandwich-joy-thief employee aggressively slams the right amount of avocado on my sandwich. Her entire face is screwed up in disgust. At me? My innocent sandwich? The other employee? The cost of living? I do not know. She adds my cheese and bacon liberally and with gusto. She reaches for the large metal container holding… scrambled eggs. No dice. My tiny prehistoric brain had seen those poached eggs — and had read it on the menu — and no other sandwich would do.)

Me: “Excuse me, but can I have poached, please? I’m not a huge fan of scrambled.”

Employee: *physically recoils* “NO!”

(My sandwich driven brain skips a beat. I look around for my earlier hero — my sandwich maestro employee that had powered the way to my avocado ratio. She, alas, is busy making coffee for the woman in front of me, and I don’t think has heard the other employee refuse me my rightful eggs. My fellow customer, to her credit, is looking at me and the employee with incredulous indignation. I decide she is on my side and I cannot, in good conscience, knock her down and steal her brown-bagged prize.)

Me: “Uh, it says poached eggs come on it on the menu?”

Employee: “Poached. Eggs. Are. Disgusting. And you’re just going to complain in five minutes that your eggs aren’t cooked enough and there’s too much gross avocado on your sandwich. No.”

(My sandwich hero realizes customers have bottlenecked behind me while I prepare to stage a good old-fashioned sit in to get the sandwich I deserve.)

Sandwich Hero: “[Employee]! Put the eggs on his sandwich and hurry up!”

Joy-Thief Employee: “NO. Poached eggs aren’t even cooked; he’s going to complain.”

(My sweet sandwich hero rolled her eyes, muttered something about “not again,” and reached over to take my sandwich away from the woman who was Marie Kondo-ing my breakfast. She deposited my prized eggs on my sandwich and wrapped it up, sliding it towards me and telling me it was on the house. I hastily escaped to protect my sandwich from further unwarranted judgement, and devoured it in my car with the speed of a Labrador whose owner has told it to drop what’s in its mouth. Not all heroes wear capes. Mine wore a black apron and defended my sandwich rights fiercely.)

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