Don’t get me wrong, I love sandwiches. I’m not a monster! But whoever organized this restaurant model – they’re definitely monsters. 

Every sandwich shop menu has at least 30 sandwiches. Nobody needs that many! We shouldn’t have to read the equivalent of Les Misérables to find out some place with a stupid name like “Hometown Heroes” puts meat and cheese on bread. 

If the shop names aren’t cringe enough, there’s the sandwiches themselves. What’s The Godfather? Oh, it has mortadella, a thing that nobody wants on a sandwich, and that could be in the name of the sandwich! But Italian meat, I guess? Then eight sandwiches later for some reason there’s one called “The Italian” which has mortadella, but also salami, prosciutto, coppa, and heart disease, I’m guessing.  

While I’m wondering if we should burn all sandwich shops to the ground, three people have come in and ordered. These people: also monsters. 

Then finally, in column 3, turkey and Swiss. It’s called The Gobbler, because turkey, I guess? That’s obnoxious, but I’ll take it! 

Still, you just know there’s other ingredients. Every sandwich has three hidden ingredients. There’s lettuce, some sauce, and friggin’ olives or something because God is dead. 

I ask the employee what else comes on The Gobbler. He says pesto (great!), romaine (nobody asked for that!), and pepperoncinis (just stop). 

But then the person making the sandwich looks down at a minefield of ingredients built into the counter. And waits. Can’t they just . . . make it? If I wanted to add tomatoes I would have fucking asked, because I’m an adult who knows how menus work literally everywhere else. 

But Sandwich Maker looks at me like maybe I’m moon-brained when I just say, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” they confirm.

Yes. Nothing. That’s what you heard me say out loud! I’d say it again but if I opened my mouth I’d pray that a meteor cleanses this unholy place from the Earth, because this is chaos and it has to stop!

I just nod. 

There’s seventeen breads. French rolls, Dutch crunch, artisanal flat (that’s just sliced bread, you liars!). I don’t know, okay? Whatever’s right for The Gobbler! Isn’t this your job? But this asshole super casually adds, “We also have piadina.” 

Well I also have Fuck You! Whatever bread I choose, everybody here will judge me. Sandwich shops judge us.

Then there’re twelve sauces and I have to pick pesto even though it was already the sauce. 

Six-inch or twelve? Hot or cold? Here or to go? (To go! There are three dirty tables bolted to the ground and I want out of this demon hellscape!).

Then, when my sandwich is finally made, and I’m going to second guess every decision and will absolutely hate it, they ask if I want chips. Why does every sandwich shop have chips? 

That’s not a complaint, it’s the only great thing about them.

Also, somehow this was fourteen dollars, and I hate it. 

If you enjoyed today’s moot, follow Chris on Twitter and check out his website. If you are feeling generous, consider donating to the National Alliance to End Homelessness, Chris’s charity of choice.