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....ever!
I happened into The Sandwich Shop today to buy a Sandwich. (As opposed to a yak, I suppose.) The total population of the sandwich shop at the moment of my arrival was myself, the Sandwich Maker, and a Customer. The Customer was somewhere in her late 50's - ergo, not doddering - and had probably already been there a while.
She was up to the bread.
I have to confess that I have never seen the decision-making process function on quite that level before. This was a woman who didn't seem aware until this moment that processed luncheon meat came in different kinds. Every single decision was grueling for her. Every one. I have no idea how long it took her to choose a bread from the six varieties offered, but I'm guessing she was probably still in grade school when she began.
Three different kinds of cheese took her about a minute and a half. And then, dear God, the clerk asked if she wanted it toasted. You could hear the gears grinding. After three or four eternities, she said, in a very small voice, "...toasted?"
She had to repeat it.
This was how it went as her sandwich moved on down the line. Every vegetable was an agonizing decision for her, requiring at least a couple of minutes of consideration of the possible ramifications of her choice. At times, when the time stretched particularly long, she'd start looking anxious and shifting her weight, as if Jack Bauer was holding a gun to her head and shouting that she had to choose cucumbers NOW, because he was RUNNING OUT OF TIME!
Honestly, lady, they're yellow peppers, not a University major. The earth will not open up and swallow you whole if you choose not to include onions. Lives do not hang in the balance here. Make a decision and get on with life.
Somewhere, a dog barked. An ice age came and went. I could hear my beard growing. The tattoo faded from my arm.
After some twenty-four minutes of heart-wrenching, Scylla-and-Charybdis, Pit-or-Pendulum choices on her behalf, during which I began to become convinced that hostages were involved (The pirates want a perfect sandwich or they'll start shooting sailors!), she had her sandwich. Though I thought for a moment she was going to put her head down and scamper from the room when it came time to choose a dressing, now that she was no longer limited to binary selections.
Meanwhile, the line was growing. Five people. Then ten. Then twelve. By the time she was rung up, eighteen people had crowded into the line, and others were walking in, taking one look at the line, thinking "no thanks," and walking away.
At one point, she poked her head out of her little SC bubble, saw the chaos she was causing, went "Eep!", dashed back inside, and slammed the door. Once she had her food, she tottered off to a table, head down, and pretended not to exist.
Which might have been the end of it, except, in an effort to clear the line faster, the Sandwich Maker decided to make several sandwiches at once, and asked half a dozen of us what bread we wanted, all at the same time. The guy behind me was on a cell phone and couldn't be arsed to end his conversation for five minutes, thus punctuating everything he said with an ingredient. "Yeah, I'm at the sandwich shop - ham, please - There's a long line here - Pepper jack, thanks - No, not you, I was talking to the clerk - Toasted, please..."
I appreciate trying to clear the line as fast as possible, but I've just spent 24 minutes waiting for the woman in front of me. Now I'm waiting for the guy BEHIND me. Forgive me, but that seems a little unfair.
Then, of course, it all backfired horribly when she started getting the sandwiches mixed up. She already had to ask me what I was having every time she turned her divided attention to me. Now she was scooping tuna onto a chicken salad sub. I seriously considered getting a burger.
The line didn't really start to move for another fifteen minutes or so, when help arrived, by which time I was pretty much finishing up and a number of veteran queue denizens had left in disgust. Meanwhile, the woman who had caused this 20 customer pileup was still sitting in the corner, trying to keep her face hidden.
Love, Who?
I happened into The Sandwich Shop today to buy a Sandwich. (As opposed to a yak, I suppose.) The total population of the sandwich shop at the moment of my arrival was myself, the Sandwich Maker, and a Customer. The Customer was somewhere in her late 50's - ergo, not doddering - and had probably already been there a while.
She was up to the bread.
I have to confess that I have never seen the decision-making process function on quite that level before. This was a woman who didn't seem aware until this moment that processed luncheon meat came in different kinds. Every single decision was grueling for her. Every one. I have no idea how long it took her to choose a bread from the six varieties offered, but I'm guessing she was probably still in grade school when she began.
Three different kinds of cheese took her about a minute and a half. And then, dear God, the clerk asked if she wanted it toasted. You could hear the gears grinding. After three or four eternities, she said, in a very small voice, "...toasted?"
She had to repeat it.
This was how it went as her sandwich moved on down the line. Every vegetable was an agonizing decision for her, requiring at least a couple of minutes of consideration of the possible ramifications of her choice. At times, when the time stretched particularly long, she'd start looking anxious and shifting her weight, as if Jack Bauer was holding a gun to her head and shouting that she had to choose cucumbers NOW, because he was RUNNING OUT OF TIME!
Honestly, lady, they're yellow peppers, not a University major. The earth will not open up and swallow you whole if you choose not to include onions. Lives do not hang in the balance here. Make a decision and get on with life.
Somewhere, a dog barked. An ice age came and went. I could hear my beard growing. The tattoo faded from my arm.
After some twenty-four minutes of heart-wrenching, Scylla-and-Charybdis, Pit-or-Pendulum choices on her behalf, during which I began to become convinced that hostages were involved (The pirates want a perfect sandwich or they'll start shooting sailors!), she had her sandwich. Though I thought for a moment she was going to put her head down and scamper from the room when it came time to choose a dressing, now that she was no longer limited to binary selections.
Meanwhile, the line was growing. Five people. Then ten. Then twelve. By the time she was rung up, eighteen people had crowded into the line, and others were walking in, taking one look at the line, thinking "no thanks," and walking away.
At one point, she poked her head out of her little SC bubble, saw the chaos she was causing, went "Eep!", dashed back inside, and slammed the door. Once she had her food, she tottered off to a table, head down, and pretended not to exist.
Which might have been the end of it, except, in an effort to clear the line faster, the Sandwich Maker decided to make several sandwiches at once, and asked half a dozen of us what bread we wanted, all at the same time. The guy behind me was on a cell phone and couldn't be arsed to end his conversation for five minutes, thus punctuating everything he said with an ingredient. "Yeah, I'm at the sandwich shop - ham, please - There's a long line here - Pepper jack, thanks - No, not you, I was talking to the clerk - Toasted, please..."
I appreciate trying to clear the line as fast as possible, but I've just spent 24 minutes waiting for the woman in front of me. Now I'm waiting for the guy BEHIND me. Forgive me, but that seems a little unfair.
Then, of course, it all backfired horribly when she started getting the sandwiches mixed up. She already had to ask me what I was having every time she turned her divided attention to me. Now she was scooping tuna onto a chicken salad sub. I seriously considered getting a burger.
The line didn't really start to move for another fifteen minutes or so, when help arrived, by which time I was pretty much finishing up and a number of veteran queue denizens had left in disgust. Meanwhile, the woman who had caused this 20 customer pileup was still sitting in the corner, trying to keep her face hidden.
Love, Who?
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