Sandwich Land, Part 2

Send in the clowns!


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
The adolescent voices trailed off, merging into the traffic noise. “Sam! Are you ok?! They're gone now, man.” Gilbert embraced Sam, rubbing his wide ham-hock shoulders. Sam pried his hand from his eyes and winced. He was blinking rapidly and rubbing away tears.
“I wanna kill those fuckers. They said their futures were set. Somethin' about working for their daddy’s companies and being all hooked up for college and shit.” Sam panted heavily. Huge sweat rings were visible from his armpits, extending halfway down his torso. Gilbert just nodded, embracing him. “And you know what those motherfuckers said next? You know what they said!?” Sam's girth trembled, body odor billowing from anger.
“What dude? What?” Gilbert asked, crushed in Sam's grip. Gilbert thought to himself, this is all I fucking need after the day I've had. Pull yourself together, Sam. Christ! Rise above it! I gotta clock in and--. Gilbert, instantly horrified by his slave mentality, stopped the thought.
“One of those dicks asked me how old I was. I said twenty-two. He laughed and said, I wouldn't be caught dead workin' here at twenty two. By then I'll be a Vice-President of a Fortune 500 Company with a hot trophy wife. Must be tough, huh? And the look he gave me, Gilbert, was so fuckin' smug. I wanted to rip his fuckin' vocal chords out and shove them down his stupid spoiled mouth.”
“He's unimportant, man. He's a fuckin' kid. He doesn't know what he's saying. I'm thirty-six. I work here. Trust me. Wisdom really does come with age. Wisdom and acceptance. Fuck them!” Gilbert sensed a slackness in Sam's grip and wriggled himself free. He placed a consoling hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“If that's not bad enough,” Sam continued, “the other dick licker had the fuckin' audacity to ask me if I've ever had a girlfriend. I told him, dude, I've been married for the last three years. He just turned to his dick hole buddy and laughed, muttering, really? Gilbert, I wish I had to take a shit just then. I would've shit on their sandwiches, man. That would've put an ignominious end to their shit-eating grins.”
“It's ok, man. I better get in there, though. Is Andy in? I gotta tell him I’m--”
“Gilbert, listen”--Sam's voice dropped to a raspy confidential whisper--“Todd's actually here. He's been bitchin’ Eric out for God knows what, and I think he wants to talk to you about something. I don't know, man, but you better be careful. I think--”
“Sam, Todd can suck my dick. I witnessed murders today! I’m quitting this job tonight. You won't believe this shit! Fuckin' pigs in suits and sunglasses took the Mayor away!”
The landscape of Sam's impossibly wide face melted with instant compassion. “Fuck, dude. I'm sorry. Maybe I’ll quit too. Let's just go in and finish our shifts and then we'll talk about it.” Gilbert and Sam entered Sandwich Land. Seven customers were fidgeting in line while Andy and Sarah attended to them. Todd sat at a nearby two-person booth, shouting animatedly at Eric, whose head housed bloodshot eyes and was supported lazily by his hand.
“Where the hell have you been, Sam!” Todd exclaimed in his asshole football coach voice. “And Gilbert? You wanna tell me why you're five minutes late?!” A blue crooked vein swelled and pulsed on Todd's forehead. His muscular biceps twitched from beneath his t-shirt as he clenched his fists.
Sam silently waddled behind the counter to wash his hands, muttering, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” Andy shot him a look of contempt as Sarah slopped green tomatoes on an old lady’s sandwich.
“I was on time, Todd,” Gilbert said. I was right outside the door consoling Sam. Are you aware that three customers were blinding him with laser pens?” Gilbert spoke confidently, thinking, fucking fear in the ass starts right here, now.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm runnin' a business here. You better believe it! Punch in already and help these poor customers. They're starving. And believe me, Gilbert, as soon as I'm done with Eric, we gonna have a little chat about some complaints I’ve been gettin' about you. Todd's Adam's apple bobbed ludicrously up and down the length of his artificially-tanned neck.
Gilbert gave Todd a lingering, haughty look. “Sure, Todd. Whatever ya wanna talk about.” He walked to the computer and clocked in, then took his time washing his hands, then waltzed over to the next customer in line, a sweaty red-faced woman of about three hundred pounds. “Hello. What can I get for ya today?” Gilbert slowly slid his thin fingers into the plastic gloves.
“Well, it's about time I've gotten some service around here! I'm starving to death!” She yelled through the orange-tinged slits of her eyes. Her black hair was sparse, glued by sweat to her pinkish scalp. She crouched against the counter. Her stomach's rumbling, clearly audible.
“I'm sorry, ma'am,” Gilbert spoke softly while standing tall and pushing back his shoulders, thinking: you goddamn sow; you must eat more in a day than I do in an entire month. She ordered, and Gilbert reached into the bread bin and flipped a piece of wheat end over end into the air, snagging it easily, then proceeded to slice it and construct her sandwich. During this time, he eavesdropped on Todd's speech to Eric.
“Ya know, Eric, your job performance just hasn't been up to par lately. So what's wrong?! I wanna know! I pay you a damn good competitive wage of eight bucks an hour, and this is the thanks I get? A slothful, ungrateful employee? So what gives, man? Ya wanna work here or not? Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”