Is this what it’s come to?
Took a couple of weeks off work, including the last three days encamped in the wilderness of Jasper, Alberta. Drove home, fast, through the pouring rain so as to dispense with the one sleep remaining, not exactly until the time when I could return to work, but the time when, as long as I was going to be back at work, I could go to the Commodore and have a nice club sandwich for lunch.
Heartbreak of heartbreaks, the Commodore was not open – something about ‘a bit of a break’. Sigh. I suppose I deserve it. I didn’t call or anything, I just stopped showing up.
Alas. If only the ending of the story of my quest for a nice club sandwich could remain only as disappointing as this. Still requiring lunch after all, I sat me down at a chain restaurant we’ll call “Blim Blorton’s,” with the sort of sandwich they’ll give you if you give them money and ask for a club.
A question for Blim Blorton’s: Honey mustard? Apart from a small cult of people who derive perverse pleasure from its texture, but who have otherwise had to undergo palate botox procedures to spare themselves its flavour – an awfully steep price to pay for such an indulgence – there is no one who will have anything to with such an abomination. What have your customers ever done to you to make you hate them so much as to believe they deserve honey mustard in their lunches?
Also, I ordered my coffee black, black like the mood you put me in, Blim Blorton’s. Geez, can’t a guy take a little time off without everything falling apart?