Where Two Yarns Tie Themselves Off
I was late for work (I’m perpetually behind, except when I’m on time, or early) and knew I had to put something in my stomach, lest I lose the capacity to pay attention. Which would be bad, ’cause at my time-filler of a job, all one has to do to do it well is to pay attention. Fulfilling, it is not.
Alas, I needed food quickly. And the deli at which I get quick sandwiches was a no go, as it remains a block out of the way of the subway, whose trains run at a very specific and occasional rate in the evening. I construct my life such that seconds and minutes matter.
I had tired of my meatless sandwich boycott (removed it from my consciousness, which isn’t a bad thing) and thought, why not give it another shot. Maybe they had rehabilitated themselves of their own recognizance.
Pshht. Nope. But they did start doubling their meat for a little more cash. I take credit for pioneering that grass-roots campaign.
So, I hauled my sandwich and my ass down to the platform just in time to catch the last train before 8 pm.
As I nibbled on the paper-thin slices of “meat,” tossing chunks of stale “whole wheat” bread into the trashbin, a man in a baseball cap schlepped over to me, right before the subway doors swung themselves open.
He asks me, “ken I have a tooth?” and points at his mouth.
Without disdain, I tried to understand what he was saying, and then realized he was asking for a bite of my sandwich.
I denied him this, ’cause I felt like it.
But a couple of conclusions popped up out of the woodwork:
1) The ironic juxtaposition of these strands totally rocks.
2) My corporate sandwich STILL blew. The boycott marches on.
3) If this man had pocketed the two bucks that it cost to ride the subway, he could have procured for himself any kind of inexpensive foodstuff.
4) I kept my sandwich not because I was so hungry, or because I’m a jackass, but because I felt so bad for this apparently homeless or certainly poor, definitely pathetic man that I didn’t want to give him as much as half of my sandwich, just for him to take a bite, spit it out, and use a different alphabet to inform me loudly that the sandwich has no fucking meat on it.
I know, brother. I know.
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