Sandwichland 4

don't worry. much, much more to come


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Eric, wiping tears from his eyes. “Shit, boss. I’m gonna get sick with giggles. Your new name is Mr. Giggly! My grandma used to say, gigglin' was good for the soul. Your a riot, boss!”
Todd pounded his fists on the table, spilling his coke onto the floor. “America the beautiful! America the beautiful! America the beautiful! Love it or leave it! Love it or leave it!”
Gilbert couldn‘t take any more. “I think what has everyone in stitches here, boss, is the ridiculousness of your rant. Kind of a stretch to link Sandwich Land to the war effort, don't you think? And then there's the matter of your first-grade spelling level. You've missed your calling. You should've been a comedian. No worries though. Maybe in your next incarnation. I will say this though on behalf of all of us: we are good human beings; America has nothing to do with that!” Gilbert winked then whispered. “And neither has Israel.”
Todd's face darkened to purple. His green-coated tongue lolled around mutely in his mouth for several seconds. An ice cube slid across the tabletop and plopped onto the floor. Todd crushed it with a violent stomp of his brown Birkenstock. “What! Isra-” Todd gasped.
“What up, Mr. Boss Man?” Eric said. “My grandma used to say, if you got something to say in life, you better spit it out now. Not good to bury all them evil words deep down in that soul of yours. Ya got a soul, boss? Sometimes I worry 'bout you, you know. Include you in my prayers at night. Yes sir, I do.” Eric reached a hand compassionately towards Todd's shoulder which Todd swatted away before contact could be made.
“Wha-what are you, Gilbert!? Some kind of terrorist!? Just last week I reported my postman, and he was replaced the very next day. Sneaky and cocky-looking he was. Just like you! And . . .” Todd paused for breath, face darkening to deeper purple, sweaty hands quivering on the table, goosebumps rising on both white arms. “And just like you he was a smart-mouth. Ain't no good can come from smart-mouths. Why, why I oughtta--”
“Stop right there, Captain America!” Gilbert barked while sliding a sandwich to Sam. “My record is clean, and once cleared I'll file a counter complaint, and they'll redirect their investigation to you. Any skeletons you hidin' in your closet, Todd? Your web surfing history? Your taxes? Your voting record? Your wife? They'll dig hard. These are hard working men. You want that ton of bricks labeled 'USA' coming down on your head? Cry USA! USA! all you want. If you call the goons on me, they may bring me down, but who gives a shit? I don't have wife and kids. But I do know how to talk, and talk fast about you I will if I have to. Think of your family the next time you want to make threats against me. I'm your best worker and you know it! You wanna fire me, go for it! I'll take my sweet work ethic elsewhere.” No fear, he thought. I've thrown down the gauntlet.
“Now, now, let's not let the stress of the workplace get us off mission. I, I uh, I'm not makin' no threats. It's just. It's just that we all need to do our best, and it's my job to coach and motivate you all to do that. I, I--”
“I don't need a coach and I always do my best at whatever I do. And by definition I can’t do better.” Gilbert sized up the little man, smiled. “Good. I see your face is gradually lightening in degrees to pink. I think we understand each other now.”
“Fine, Gilbert,” Todd winced with chest pain. His face, completely beaded with sweat. “But there is the little matter of these complaints I've gotten about you. Why don't you trade places with Eric here, and try to explain your way out of this?”
The front door emitted a series of beeps as customers poured in. Gilbert thought of Peggy and what a good story this would make over beers tonight. Let's see what this petty little man has up his sleeve now. I'm gonna make you proud, Mayor. I'm gonna live like you do, and not look back with regret and take no thought for tomorrow. Eric rose from the seat, exchanging a high-five with Gilbert, after which Gilbert sat, folding his hands, chin up and looking unflinchingly into Todd's darting eyes. Seven complaint cards were fanned in Todd's trembling fingers like a poker hand.
“I opened the complaint box this morning, Gilbert, and as you know I'm the only one who has the key, and” (Todd huffed and crinkled his forehead) “what I found greatly disturbs me. Before I send these off to headquarters which would take the termination process out of my hands, I would appreciate your comments upon perusal.” Todd smiled proudly, and splayed the cards in front of Gilbert. “Well? Take a look. A good look.” Sarcastically, Todd added: “I'd hate to lose my best worker over this.”
Before looking at the comment cards, Gilbert shot a glance at the growing, grumbling queue of fidgeting, gluttonous customers. Some young. Some middle-aged. Some old. Gilbert sized up the lot of them. Pudgy. Paunchy. Pot-bellied. Soft and susceptible to marketing's easy mind control, feeding their weakened brains through the air waves and the glitzy printed page. For an instant Gilbert thought of writing a book called, 'Consuming For Dummies.' It would consist of a single word: Don't. Gilbert looked at the customers' eyes. Beady and greedy. Lives lived according to instinct. Chakra one lives, devoid of spirit. Stupidity bursting at the seams.
A stern woman in a red dress raised her voice at Sam, who was furiously and desperately banging the near-empty mayo container on the counter in a futile attempt to get enough out. “That's all the mayo I get! Squeeze the damn bottle!” The woman was well-coiffed and her lavender-based perfume had the smell of money.
Poor Sam, the ultimate whipping boy, thought Gilbert as he scooped up the complaints. I pray you get your day in the sun, my friend. And it would nice if you could stand tall and thin when that day comes. Gilbert fell into reverie, closing his eyes: he imagined a worldwide Eden without concrete. Palm trees lined beaches where buildings once sliced the sky like phallic-shaped knives. And laughing and dancing about the sand and the grass and the forests and the campfires of this future utopia were naked men and women, boys and girls, nymph-like and satyr-like, all beautiful and bronze and thin. Thin like the Gods, he thought.