The Melancholy Sandwich
We had a scheduled power outage at work this past weekend. Due to a myriad of compounding issues, culminating with a fried rat in the power supply room, my work went dark for over five hours. During this time, our beloved wheel-of-death went from cold and inviting to warm, moist, and disgusting.
After five hours without power, we’re live again.
Three days later this sandwich, which had endured an environment uncommon outside as of yet unexplored third-world rain forests and certain parts of Texas, was still making its merry rounds under the cold florescent lights inside the heart of the terrible machine.
I don’t have the constitution, the will power, nor the stones to tempt fate and purchase this lone, sad looking egg salad sandwich. The forlorn thing is the last of its kind. Alone and unloved, this bacteria-ridden vector is still patiently waiting, biding its time until some unlucky soul unwittingly extracts it from its plastic confines, ingests it, and endures its pent-up wrath.
*shudder*
