I went by there this morning to pick up a bagel for breakfast. I always add tomato to my breakfast sandwich (bacon, egg, and cheese...add tomato). Since I have been picking this up with my well adjusted remix of their breakfast sandwich delight, the official sandwich maker, Jim has been in awe of my amazing ability to pair such an everyday vegetable such as the tomato with this sandwich. Almost every single time I am in there he shakes his head in disbelief as he hands me the sandwich across the counter, and says "Now that's the way to have a sandwich." No. I don't think he is retarded or handicapped at all. I think that he is a fully competent human being. But I do find it odd that he is so taken aback by this little added detail to my order.
It is funny that with such a simple exchange; me placing my order, waiting for it, and taking it from the hands of Jim, the sandwich maker extraordinaire, you wouldn't think twice about it otherwise. But Jim. He is different. He makes this exchange of actions hold so much more meaning than I ever could.
Take today for instance. A special treat for me this week is that I got to have my breakfast sandwich yesterday since I wasn't going into work until 2pm and then ANOTHER ONE today because it is my day off. So while waiting for it, Jim shouts out my name, shakes his head in usual fashion, but this time looks disappointed in himself. He admits, "Justin, I really fucked up your sandwich yesterday". I was a little nervous because I ate the whole thing and didn't think anything was wrong. I thought he was going to tell me he undercooked the eggs or something. Instead he admits that he forgot to put the tomato on it.
I told him I didn't notice because I was so hungry. Then he reiterated that THIS was the ONLY way to order a "fucking" sandwich. He went on to say that he not only put tomatoes on my sandwich today but instead put THREE "fucking" tomatoes, NOT just one!
I thanked Jim for his kindness and consideration in the making of my sandwich and as I bid him a fond farewell, he nodded, saluted and pointed to the door and enthusiastically uttered "Alright Justin, Go Get 'em!"
It felt good to have someone cheer me on.
I mean, it is my day off, so I don't have to go GET anything if I don't want to. But I needed to hear it. Even if it was the crazy old man that makes sandwiches at Panera, forgets to add tomato, and uses the word fuck so passionately you would think he was talking about a Red Sox loss, or the winter months in Massachusetts.
Who knew? All this over a bacon, egg, and cheese (Sans Tomato)!
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