Just a Sandwich

By Foosballer

Paul grabbed his superior, and together they crashed through the fifth-story window. “This will make my day 100 percent better,” Paul thought. But unless the pavement was as soft as a pillow, it probably will not make his day better.

Earlier that day

Paul A. Simpleton was making his sandwich when he got up from bed. He pan-fried bacon, cut fresh tomatoes, toasted sourdough bread, and topped it with crispy iceberg lettuce. These were the last ingredients from the local farmers’ market. He put his sandwich in a brown paper lunch bag. To Paul, this sandwich was his magnum opus.

Once his sandwich crafting was done, he got breakfast, brushed his teeth, and tried to kiss his girlfriend. On his way out of his apartment, he stubbed his big toe. Then on his walk to the bus stop, he stepped in a dog turd with his brand-new shoes, and when he got to the bus stop and waited, the bus didn’t come. So, he hoofed it to the office instead.

When he was outside the office, he checked his watch. He was late. “Crap!” Paul exclaimed. “How could life be anymore unforgiving?” Paul thought. Then Paul’s phone started to vibrate and ring in his pocket. He answered it. It was his girlfriend.

“I wanna break up.”

And with that, the call ended, and Paul’s question was answered. Paul was shocked, for a second, but it was fine; she was kinda annoying anyways.

As Paul made his way into the office, he stopped. His dictatorial executive David U.R. Grossman – a tall, finely built, handsome man with slick back hair, finely tailored black suit, a clean-shaven face, and a heavy cologne that made him smell like a car shop – strode up to Paul with a wide cocky smile. David then rubbed in the fact that Paul was twenty minutes late. Paul looked towards the floor to avoid the piercing stare of executive douchyness. “It won’t happen again, s-sir,” Paul stammered and pulled his brown paper lunch bag up to his chest. He then started his long walk through the gray cubicle forest, but he was stopped by David, “Oh, and let me see your lunch.” Paul again saw that pretentious smile. “Um, sir, I can’t,” Paul said.

“Oh, come on, it’s just a lunch.”

With one swift motion, David snatched the brown paper lunch bag from Paul and opened it. David’s cocky smile for once in Paul’s tenure went away. “Um, that’s a nice-looking sandwich,” David said in surprise but quickly changed his tone of voice. “I mean, it’s just a sandwich.”

Paul just stared at David’s face, not knowing what to say or do.

Seeing this creatin looking him as Daivd’s façade was cracking, he put up his defensive barrier with an order: “Put your lunch away and get to work!”

Paul nodded his head up and down and ran off to the employee break room.

He entered the room, it was white. He saw the fridge with the colorful magnets with various phrases like “You say food, I salvation” and “Your Hungarian I’m Hungrier!” Paul opened the fridge and placed his brown bag on one of the shelves. As he closed the door he said in sultry voice, “I will see you later, sweet thing.” Oh, how he wished that lunch would come sooner. But he must part from his beloved.

● ● ●

He was at his desk now filing papers, printing papers, and stapling papers. It was a monotonous and boring task, but not for Paul. He immersed himself so that time would fly by. But for some reason, he just couldn’t focus. Paul just couldn’t wait to put that sexy meal in his mouth. But either way, he needed to finish his work to get to his happy hour.

● ● ●

Paul put his hands on the back of his head, leaned back on his swivel chair, and sighed. His work took up the rest of the late morning, but lunch time was only a few minutes away. “Hey, Paul,” a voice of unabashed cockiness came from behind. Paul immediately shot up and turned in one quick motion like a dance number. Standing there with his left arm resting on his cubicle’s side wall was David.

“Yes, sir?”

David unrested his arm from the cubicle and moved toward Paul. In his right arm, was a stack of crisp yellow filing paper, which measured about a foot high. Paul looked at the paper with huge eyes, his eyes then trailed to David.

“Here, I need you to fill ALL of these out, capiche.”

“Well, sir, I was about to get lunch, but I can do th-.”

“Nope, they must be done now. I have a lunch meeting to attend to.”

Before Paul could say anything, David dropped the papers on the desk with a “THUMP!!” and David walked off, butt clenched, stomach sucked in, and elbows pointed going back and forth as he hummed a tune. Paul stood in his cubicle wide eyed.

“B-but lunch,” Paul mustered with a whimper.

It was grueling work, but he did it. Paul got up from his chair, stretched, and checked the time: 3:40 p.m. He got up from his chair and gave a stretch. He then ran out of his cubicle.

● ● ●

Entering the eating room never felt so good for Paul. His hunger pains settled down as he approached the refrigerator. When he opened the door, the angelic hue of the refrigerator light hit his face. The contents inside were sparse, as there were only leftovers, a bag of cookies, and a baby bottle full of breast milk. Paul looked up and down and all around, yet his brown bag was not there. Paul closed the refrigerator very slowly as if it were glass. He clapped his hands together, took a deep breath in then out, and spouted his frustration:

“ARRRRHGG FUCCCCCCKKKKK YOOOOOOUUUUUU!!!!!” Paul balled his fist and then punched repeatedly at the refrigerator door. With each punch, his knuckles began to purple. The purpling soon spread to his fingers, then from fingers to the whole hand. He stopped once his whole hand was as purple as a plum and the pain was too much to continue. This brought Paul to ball himself up, knees to shoulder, and crying his eyes out.

Paul was sitting in the middle of the break-room floor, cradling himself and going back and forth. Tears ceased to come out of his eyes. Snot bubbled in his nose as he blubbered unintelligible words out of his mouth.

“S-s-s-s-s-san-sand-SANDWICH!” Paul exclaimed with the spirt of a man baby.

This it. Paul’s day had officially hit rock bottom.

● ● ●

Paul sat there for twenty minutes, thinking about the events of his day: First, he stubbed his big toe; second, he stepped in a dog turd, third, the bus didn’t show; fourth, his girlfriend broke up with him; and fifth, some JERKWAD TOOK HIS SANDWICH!!!! Paul let these moments sink in as he thought what the hell he was going to do. He knew one thing: He wasn’t going to sit around and wait for the work to end and go back to his now-lonely apartment and make a sandwich of floppy white bread and slimy cold cuts. No, he was going to do something.

● ● ●

Darius was having a peachy-keen day when, all of a sudden, a man with big purple mitts kicked open his door.

“What the fu-!” Darius tried to say, but promptly cut off when Paul’s purple mitts grabbed his shirt collar.

“THE HELL IS ME SANDWICH DARIY-USSS?” Paul said with a force of demonic ecstasy.

“What! What the hell, man! What are you talking about!”

“Say ahh.”

“What?”

“AWW!”

“Wha-.”

Paul rudely interrupted the question by sticking his big purple fingers in Darius’s mouth and wrenching it open with his fingers. As Darius’s muffled screams entered the air, Paul took a mighty whiff of Darius’s breath.

“Clear.”

● ● ●

James was reclined in his security officer chair with his feet kicked up on the desk. He was looking at the gray, grainy camera screen from time to time. Yep, it was as slow as always. Suddenly, a man rushed past one of the cameras. James unreclined himself from his chair and put his feet down from the desk. The man rushed past another camera then another. James’s eyes scanned the screens, “What the fuck?”

While thinking, “Where the hell was this guy going?” he soon found his answer as the big black metal security door was kicked open.

“JAMES!”

Paul had the same rabid look, but his voice was deeper and had some gravel in it.

“SAY AWWW!”

Paul’s purple mitts twitched with eagerness and hope to uncover if this man was in fact the sandwich bandit. James’s scream was muffled by the forceful opening of his mouth. He was not the bandit.

● ● ●

Karen was just minding her business when all of a sudden Paul popped from around the corner.

“KAREN! WHERE’S MY FUCKING SANDWICH!!!”

Karen turned and pepper sprayed Paul.

“ARRGGGHGRR”

● ● ●

It was 5:15 p.m.; work was soon going to end. Looking like Clint Eastwood looking at the sun, many office violations, and still no clue as to who took his sandwich, Paul lay in the middle of the office floor surrounded by the gray forest of cubicles. With a sigh, Paul stood up and trudged his way towards his cubicle, but something caught his eye: In a waste bin lay a brown paper bag. Paul picked up the bag, it looked like his, it felt like his, but it smelled like a. . . CAR SHOP. DAVID!

● ● ●

*DING*

The elevator doors opened to the fifth floor: the executive floor.

● ● ●

The doors of the gray elevator opened to the floor. Even though his face didn’t show it, he thought it: This place was pretty. The walls were not a gray plaster, but a dark brown wood so polished that you could see your reflection in it. There were no cubicles, just separate rooms with wooden doors with blurred windows engraved with the name of the occupant. As Paul walked around this luxurious floor he scanned each door with great care looking for the cursed name of Grossman. Bingo.

David was sitting in his black leather chair with his feet on top of his desk with no care in the world looking at his computer and enjoying the quiet. A knock interrupted the silence.

“Enter.”

Nothing. Another knock.

“I said ENTER”

Another knock.

David got out of his chair and walked towards the door. “HOLY FUCK! I SAID ENTER! YOU FUCKING RETAR-!”

As David put his hand on the knob, his door window exploded into shards of glass. David’s face took the brunt of the force, as the glass entered his face and eyes. One of Paul’s big purple mitts came through the door window and punched David in the face. David fell on his back, and then Paul strode into the room. David got back up to confront his attacker, and as he did, rivulets of blood came out of his eyes mimicking tears. With no way of seeing his attacker and the immense pain of glass in his retinas, David did the only thing he could.

“HELP! HELP! HEL-!” another punch came out of the pitch black, and David was back on the ground. As David tried to find some leverage to pick himself up, Paul stepped on his arm and kicked him back on his back.

“YOU ATE MY SANDWICH!!!!” Paul growled.

“PAUL!? SANDWHICH WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?!?” David said with his voice cracking.

“LIES!!!!”

“PAUL, listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about! I had a business lunch remember! I…”

“MY LUNCH!!!!” Paul screamed like a rabid banshee.

“PAUL! IT’S JUST A LUNCH!!!!!!! LOOK, I’M ON MY KNEES HERE!!”

“WHY DID YOU EAT MY SANDWICH! TELL ME NOW!!!”

David tried his best to get a look at Paul, but due to his eyes being eviscerated by the glass, he could only look straight ahead.

“T-That sandwich looked so good. It was like a siren. All I could think about was that breaded beast in my mouth! I’m sorry; the temptation took me, Paul. I’m SO SORRY!”

With a whimper in his voice, David continued, “Listen, I won’t tell anyone about this.” He made a gesture of his hands circling his bloody eyes. “You have my promise, Paul! I can make any sandwich you want! I HAVE THE MONEY!”

Paul just looked at David with no emotion in his eyes. “No.”

Paul then stepped back, got into a running position, and ran into the clueless David. The two merged into one as they crashed through the window.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!” was the only thing David could say as the wind blew into his jacket making him two times his normal size.

“YOU TOOK MY SANDWICH!! I TAKE YOUR LIFE!!!!!” Paul exclaimed.

The pavement was coming ever closer, so Paul closed his eyes and whispered under his breath, “I’m coming, sandwich.”

*SPLAT*