Bad Sandwich

Last night our daughter howled like a banshee for hours, a horrible high pitched wail like nothing we’d heard before. All efforts to placate her were in vain, and it wasn’t until well past 1am that she went to sleep. When she woke at seven, she was brimming with good cheer and energy, while the best her parents could do was not walk into furniture. Bleary eyed, I made my way to work and battered through some data, until by the end of the afternoon I had something pretty ship shape. In between whiles, I put myself through more physical exertion, which seemed to help.

Yes, it was Thursday, which means spin class at 7cycle. Including me, five of us were from my office, so we made a nice little line of over enthusiastic spinners in the front row of the class. As I began to warm up, the lady to my left remarked on how cold it was in the studio. I should have told her that never lasts.

After we finished, I heard her tell one of my other colleagues that she wished she could sweat as much as i did. I don’t know that’s an ambition anyone needs to hold. Once again today my shirt was sodden and there was a visible puddle around my bike. I sweat at such a rate that it doesn’t even taste salty: it’s like pure water is rolling off my brow. I tried to be a little restrained today, after last night’s overexertion at the track, but it’s hard to stick to that. Discipline comes slowly. Then again, if I’m racing the 5k this Saturday, I need to give my body some chance to rest.

I really wanted to go for a burger at Triple O’s but that was too far to walk and get back to the office on time, so I made the mistake of going to Sarnies instead. I ordered a sandwich (aubergine on rye) and a piece of cake to takeaway, and when it came, there was no cake. But I’d been charged more than what the price on the menu said. I scratched my head and tried to figure out if this wa because they weren’t including tax in the price. Meanwhile, a huge queue had gathered at the till, and so I had to wait another ten minutes tk get to ask somebody what was going on. And where my cake was.

There was no cake. The member of staff looked me up and down like I was the world’s biggest idiot, then told me the price was different because rye bread cost an extra $1.60. Silly me. I must have missed the sign written in invisible ink saying this. And I had no cake.

Cakeless, enraged at being dismissed contemptuously and nickel-and-dimed on the bread, I left Sarnies, resolving never to darken its doors again.

Ironically, last time I was at Sarnies the sandwich was spoiled by there being too much bread. This time, the super expensive rye bread was sliced extra thinly, so I got even less for what I paid more for.

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