Because I can rarely get away from my desk, I often have to go to the sandwich place downstairs, get something and come back up to work. Luckily, the guys who make the sandwiches are pretty good. I don’t know their names, but there’s a guy on the right always calls me “my friend” (I thought I was special until I realized he said that to everyone) and the guy on the left who looks like a latino Josh Beckett. And this guy on the right makes a damn fine sandwich. His best quality is definitely generosity, there’s always lots of quantities to his ingredients. He also takes good care and pays attention to the little things like symmetry and design. I order about 4 different sandwiches and he’s memorized them all. I just say the type of bread and he’s off to the races. With that it’s fun to see the schmucks who barely know how to order a sandwich go up and struggle with the basic concept of what they want to eat. He never chastises them or anything, but he goes through an awkward slow motion and stutter due to said idiot’s poor ordering. Occasionally he will let out a “vamanos, vamanos, amigo!”. We have a mild rapport going, though it’s not be as personal as my relationship with my security guard Andre. He seems to have that kind of relationship with the more attractive female members of his patronage.
He also seems to like the non-tomato BLTAs as much as I do (that’s a BLT w/ avocado to you east coasters).
And hey, you know the old addage, “don’t shit where you eat!” … that came out of nowhere but it’s supposed to be in reference to being nice and tipping the people who prepare your food and not being a dick.