I support my drinking habit by working in a deli. A posh, chi chi deli for rich students and tourists. In addition to being a deli, my store also serves posh sandwiches for 2.50-3.50 (and that’s in pounds, so we’re talking $4.50-$6.50ish) that are grilled on a very hot, oil-splattering grill named “Michael” which has given me numerous scars over both my hands, the cheeky bastard.
I work for two of the most heinous bitches the world has created, both of whom are also American (of-fucking-course).
So today, we had a fairly large lunch rush. I was back in the sandwich bar doing my thang with 4 sandwiches on the grill and 10 people in line. Then….disaster! I’ve run out of parma ham just as someone is ordering the 3.50 “Sophia Loren” sandwich (parma ham, parmeasan, pesto, sweet peppers and rocket lettuce).
Some say that the office/cubicle life is shallow and unfulfilling. There’s a phrase associated with people that make such seemingly negative observations: “no shit sherlock!” If you’re like me, the office is all you got. It encompasses your life 9-10 hours a day without respite. Sometimes it even