I bit into a sandwich from a prominent US sandwich chain. Their logo is mainly green; and their name rhymes with ‘highway’. Now that we’re on the same page let me proceed.
I was craving a nice meat laden sandwich soaked in mayonnaise, mustard and a little chili sauce. So I walked up to the counter and chose a hearty bread and the meatiest thing on the menu. I skipped the veggies except for a a few bits of onions. Then I got them to shove it in the oven for a few minutes so that the cheese would turn the whole thing into a slice of paradise.
Not wanting to prolong my anticipation, I sat at the only place available – a narrow ledge by the kitchen door that allowed room for just one tall stool. I actually preferred it this way. Who wants a bunch of prying eyes when you’re stretching your mouth over a bite; chomping subconsciously as you scrutinize your sandwich wondering which angle to attack from next?
That first bite brought out an involuntary moan.
I was already having separation anxiety; I didn’t want it to end. Whoever said ‘you can’t fill the void in your life with food’ was just dead wrong. I chewed and salivated savoring the texture of the meat and the sharp juices from the onion. The bread and cheese were turning into a lovely goo over the whole lump in my mouth. I was delaying the swallow for a little too long, but I didn’t care. This was my sandwich and I was going to drag it on for as long as I wanted to!
All the while I barely noticed what went on around me.The staff went in and out the kitchen. People walked in the front door; muffled undecided voices over the counter. I was oblivious to it all, or so I thought. My ears had caught on hushed voices in the kitchen. It was something I instinctively knew I had to hear before I swallowed that first bite.
“But I’m afraid he’ll fire me.”
“Not if you don’t tell him.”
“But I have too, it was my fault. I don’t know how many people have already eaten it!”
“Look, we can’t do anything about that. It wasn’t even your fault. You couldn’t help what you found in the meat. That’s the supplier’s problem.”
“But I should have told someone before they began serving it today,” wailed the small worried voice.
I froze with my mouth half open.
“Look i hear big companies can’t help it. I’m sure the meat at McDonald’s gets compromised sometimes,” I was starting to get a little noxious with this line of reasoning.
“Maybe it was just a piece of string.”
“Yeah, but it looked a lot like a long hairy brown tail to me!”
I spat. Then I threw up on my lap.
The staff ran out and looked at me.
I was surprised to see them grinning.
“April Fool!!” they sang in unison.
[This story was purely fictional. But watch what you’re eating: http://www.slashfood.com/2009/12/21/rat-jaw-in-frozen-vegetables/%5D