Under-filled Sandwiches
You can tell a lot about a person by how they make a sandwich, like whether they should live or die.
You know the situation: It’s the morning. You have to go to work and there’s a choice to be made. Either make some lunch to take with you or have and extra five minutes in bed. You go with the extra five minutes and boy, do you regret it later.
Lunchtime comes around and I head to my local sandwich shop, already annoyed that for some reason all of their sandwiches are four-fifths-sized. Really I want to buy two of these minuscule sandwiches, but they are always priced in the assumption of one sandwich per person. I’m not a fat bastard, but I don’t eat the same amount as an eighteen year-old girl. There is another option though and I’m going to take it. The baguette.
Three people work in this fictional sandwich shop (it’s not fictional really). One member of staff is generous with fillings, one is about average and one is downright mean. It’s almost like a modern parable. I am in the queue and I am trying to manipulate it so that I don’t get Mrs Rationing. It looks like she will be serving me if the three of them continue to produce sandwiches at their current rates, so I go and pretend to peruse the fridge for a second before rejoining the queue. It’s okay now. I’m going to avoid her.
Suddenly, one of the customers remembers three more things that he has to buy for a friend and delays Mr Average-Filling. I’m landed with Mrs Rationing. I place my order for an egg mayonnaise and salad baguette.
Rather than cutting me a third of a baguette, Mrs Rationing first allocates me a quarter. She then takes one spoonful of egg mayonnaise from a bowl and smears it along the baguette, willing it to the edges of the bread. It’s clear to everyone that a second spoonful is required, but no – eggs are a priceless commodity in a sandwich shop. They don’t throw half a tub of egg mayonnaise away at the end of every day or anything. With such a generous thickness of filling already, there’s no real room for salad, so two slices of tomato and a piece of lettuce should do the trick. One slice of tomato at each end of the bread – how can she look at that and think it’s acceptable?
“£2.50, please”.
I am the proud owner of one quarter of a forty pence baguette and it has cost me a mere £2.50. I bite into the sandwich and can literally taste nothing. It is the most crushing disappointment imaginable. A fellow customer gives me a look that says: ‘You poor bastard’. Maybe he will help me make Mrs Rationing into a sandwich.
You know the situation: It’s the morning. You have to go to work and there’s a choice to be made. Either make some lunch to take with you or have and extra five minutes in bed. You go with the extra five minutes and boy, do you regret it later.
Lunchtime comes around and I head to my local sandwich shop, already annoyed that for some reason all of their sandwiches are four-fifths-sized. Really I want to buy two of these minuscule sandwiches, but they are always priced in the assumption of one sandwich per person. I’m not a fat bastard, but I don’t eat the same amount as an eighteen year-old girl. There is another option though and I’m going to take it. The baguette.
Three people work in this fictional sandwich shop (it’s not fictional really). One member of staff is generous with fillings, one is about average and one is downright mean. It’s almost like a modern parable. I am in the queue and I am trying to manipulate it so that I don’t get Mrs Rationing. It looks like she will be serving me if the three of them continue to produce sandwiches at their current rates, so I go and pretend to peruse the fridge for a second before rejoining the queue. It’s okay now. I’m going to avoid her.
Suddenly, one of the customers remembers three more things that he has to buy for a friend and delays Mr Average-Filling. I’m landed with Mrs Rationing. I place my order for an egg mayonnaise and salad baguette.
Rather than cutting me a third of a baguette, Mrs Rationing first allocates me a quarter. She then takes one spoonful of egg mayonnaise from a bowl and smears it along the baguette, willing it to the edges of the bread. It’s clear to everyone that a second spoonful is required, but no – eggs are a priceless commodity in a sandwich shop. They don’t throw half a tub of egg mayonnaise away at the end of every day or anything. With such a generous thickness of filling already, there’s no real room for salad, so two slices of tomato and a piece of lettuce should do the trick. One slice of tomato at each end of the bread – how can she look at that and think it’s acceptable?
“£2.50, please”.
I am the proud owner of one quarter of a forty pence baguette and it has cost me a mere £2.50. I bite into the sandwich and can literally taste nothing. It is the most crushing disappointment imaginable. A fellow customer gives me a look that says: ‘You poor bastard’. Maybe he will help me make Mrs Rationing into a sandwich.
posted by Blue and Brown | 12:26 AM
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