There is no such thing as a good lunch

Being the proud man I am, I’ve never learned to make a lunch for myself. In fact my Father used to brown bag my lunches for me until I was about 21.

This dependency has led me down the life long path of buying my lunch every day instead of making it like a reasonable person would. For some reason, I can’t make a sandwich myself. Every time I do it ends up wet somehow.

Anyways, that long winded intro leads us to today’s dilemma.

So I felt moderately hungry today at lunch, but not hungry enough to eat my regular Wednesday lunch special of chicken fingers, so I decided to wander down to this higher priced deli that I’ve seen and avoided on purpose.
I see a sign.

It says – “BBQ Beef Sandwich $5.95”

Sounds good right?

But wait, what if it is, you know, weird…

This deli looked like the type of place that would put onions and other vile weeds into a perfectly good beef and bread sandwich. So I asked; “What’s the BBQ Beef Sandwich all about?”

The girl behind the counter was taken back by my question. Maybe she wanted to do me, who knows, most women do. She nervously replied; “… it’s a BBQ beef sandwich… it comes in this pot here”. Then proceeded to kind of stir the beef in an attempt to be cute but ultimately ended up making everyone feel uncomfortable since her boss was watching.

While that answer didn’t exactly satisfy my inquiry, I wasn’t in the mood for this strange situation anymore and just wanted sandwich. At this point I assumed that it was just roast beef stewing in a nice juicy hot broth ready to be placed on my bun. So I order one, and after about 5 minutes of fiddling around with the bun, she reaches down into the beef pit and pulls out the slimiest, most rancid pile of puke I’ve ever seen and puts it on my bun.

I’m surprised they have the gall to advertise it as a “BBQ Beef Sandwich” when it is clearly a pile of shit and vegetables with some beef filler. At this point I was to consumed with keeping the vomit from entering my mouth that I couldn’t object to the now made sandwich.

I politely took the piece of ass hole and paid my 6 bucks for it, declining the drink the server offered me as an up-sale – knowing full well I wouldn’t need any liquid to wash this doomed sandwich down.

5 steps away from the deli it found its way to a trash can, and I’m still hungry.

And I can actually still smell it on me, its like I dipped my hand in the bog of eternal stench and can’t shake it off.

I guess I’d rather a wet sandwich made by yours truly than the literal piece of trash they served up to me today.

And yes I just wasted 5 minutes of your time telling you about a bad sandwich I had. I hope you are at least as bored as I was when I wrote this.