Originally Posted: 2005-10-17 4:26pm
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favorite this post I just want a LITTLE! hide this posting unhide

It's a nice day out. I decided I wanted a sandwich. Your bright yellow laminate tables and chairs and old photograph mural all lure me in to your sandwich heaven.

And so I go...
And so I order a sandwich...

And happy little "Sandwich Artist" (SA) neatly folds four slices of turkey and four slices of ham onto that lovely loaf of bread. I was once an SA. Way back in the good old days. Back when we use to cut that bread in to "U-boat" style. Back when the kiddies use to slice their hands open left and right because of that. Back when we had to march ten miles to work... through the snow... up hill... both ways! Ok... that part was made up. But now it's just a flat cut piece of bread. Oh Subway, how you have fallen.

Alas! this is not my concern now, this is not why I R&R, on with the sandwich makings!...

Onward the SA progresses, placing four strips of bacon neatly on to of the folded meat. Then comes the cheese, oh glorious cheese. Back when I was an SA, we only had "white cheese". Now there are three or four kinds; oh the choices! And now look at this crazy invention that you have! A toaster oven! Oh my! A sandwich... toasted... what will you think of next! And how neatly you go about it wonderful SA. You do not just throw the sandwich into some demonic toasting conveyor belt like *someplace* we won't mention. No, you gently place the well crafted sandwich onto a pretty toasting tray and neatly place it into the uber-oven-of-toasting. What tender love you display. No wonder they call you an "Artist"!


Yeah, the pretty toasted sandwich is ready for the toppings. You ask "what would you like on it?" And I reply "everything". And to that you look a bit dumbfounded. Once again I dream of a time when I was an SA, and everything meant (per six-inch):

onions (three-four "strips")
lettuce (a small handful)
tomatoes (two-three "wheels")
pickles (two-three "wheels")
olives (two... TWO! I'm not joking)
salt and pepper (just a dash of each)

That was the formula. You learned it and loved it and did it. There were signs posted in the store to say exactly what it meant ("everything is:..."). Now? Now I just get a "dear in the headlights" when I say it.

Alas! this is not my concern now, this is not why I R&R, on with the sandwich makings!...

Gingerly you place each item on the sandwich making it look nice and pretty. It's like a beautiful scenery... of... diced produce... it's... well... a work of art! That's why you're a "Sandwich Artist"! Of course, now it all makes sense!

"Anything else?" you say. Why certainly, "I'd like a little bit of mayo."

And so it begins...

Gone is the love...
Gone is the tender care for this masterpiece...
Gone is the "Sandwich Artist"...
Here now, is the "Sandwich Butcher"!!!

Like a Californian watching all the coyotes run for the hills; I see the warning signs. It starts with the SB grabbing the big squeeze bottle of yellow love. The SB then gives it two or three or twelve bangs, nozzle down, to "prime it". I know what is coming. I see it flashing before my eyes, the life of my beautiful sandwich... I want to react, I want to say "JUST A LITTLE YOU INSANE FUCK!!" But I am frozen; somehow my subconscious is rationalizing that maybe... just maybe... this one time... the psycho SB will not turn my pretty little sandwich into the final scene of a gang bang.


Every damn time.... you're lucky this sneeze guard is between us or I'd turn you into a van Gogh you fucking SA!!!

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