Bathroom Monologue: Strife with Sandwiches

So you’re walking by this restaurant that half your friends have said serves the best ham sandwich. Your life is feeling empty and pointless right now so you go in and order one, but the waitress says they don’t serve any. You tell her you’ve heard they serve great ones, and she just smiles and nods. You’re there for fifteen minutes before you get up and leave out of frustration. As you exit, though, you pass a couple leaving who are talking.

“What a great ham sandwich.”

“Yes it was. Thank you for sharing your other half with me. I’m definitely ordering it next time.”

What the Hell? You almost go over to look at their empty plates to see the remains of this sandwich, but you’re already at the door. It’d be embarrassing.

That night you hear someone else praise the restaurant’s ham sandwich, so you head back to the restaurant the next day. You get a different waitress. You order the sandwich, she nods and heads off.

Huh. I guess the other one was ornery.

This waitress returns with a bowl of tomato soup and doesn’t even listen to your protests as she heads off to wait on another table. Infuriating! Almost as infuriating as when you leave and pass an entire party of people talking about how great their ham sandwiches were.

For forces beyond your ability to explain you return the next day. You sit in the same area as that party had, thinking maybe the waitress in this area will provide the sandwich. Maybe she makes them herself and you can only get them from her.

But no waitress shows up. Other people come and sit in the area and don’t even look for a server. In fact, they almost look full the moment they sit down. When one of them belches you lose your temper and go into another area to grab someone who works there and yell that you know there’s a ham sandwich somewhere in that back room and you’re damned well going to eat it.

Logic only kicks in at this moment, and they call the cops. You’re hauled out. You head over to your normal restaurant to cool off and order the grilled cheese sandwich, your favorite. It comes and is delicious. It soothes you right away.

But just as you’re finishing you see someone screaming at the front door about how he knows they don’t serve grilled cheese sandwiches and he’ll fucking kill them if they don’t admit that there’s no such thing.

Anyway, that’s my experience with other people’s religion.