To The Man Who Made My Sandwich

I’m happy and I’m sad all at once. Yeah, I said it.

The sky is a brilliant shade of blue. Deceptive blue. The kind of blue that makes you believe that the sun is warming the world. I step outside and the crisp breeze nips at my cheeks. The chill cuts right through my coat, sending shivers up my neck. It stings my hands as I reach for the zipper on my jacket. I glance out at the sea of down-feather jackets and winter hats. They hurriedly march by in packs, all bundled up, with their masks pulled over their noses and eyes to the ground.

Everybody is always rushing somewhere. I sigh and toss my cigarette in the gutter, stuffing my hands in my pockets and joining the herd of New Yorkers stampeding down the street. My mind is too full to care about the cold. Thoughts are bouncing back and forth like particles in the cosmos. One negative for one positive, one after another, meeting and annihilating and creating more and more thoughts. The scenarios in my head have somehow found a way to trickle down into my chest. They run endless circles around my beating heart, creating a lingering ache. I glance up at a passing stranger and smile. Happy. I glance down at the sidewalk. Sad. It takes a moment to be happy, it takes a moment to be sad again, remembering the looming heaviness surrounding my chest. That stupid ache.

The best way to get rid of the ache is to do something that makes me happy. Yeah, happiness slows the thoughts in their tracks. Reprogramming their frantic cyclical course. Happiness recycles them up and out of my body, back into the atmosphere.

Happy always replaces sad.

I stumble into a sandwich shop and the door jingles shut behind me. The menu is large and full of options. Somehow, I get lost staring into the large, green words. They morph into a blur. Sad creeps in. Steam and the smell of frying eggs surrounds me. Warms me up from the outside winter chill. The spatula is quickly slapping against the grill. Workers are shouting orders. The “order-up” bell rings. It’s the chiming that snaps me out of my thoughts. Happy.

Hi! Can I get a number 5, please?

Yes! Special for you! The man making my sandwich smiled. I watched him as he assembled the sandwich, hastily yet perfectly. I imagine how he must make about 1,000 sandwiches a day. Of course, he would have mastered the art. I imagine a little boy, watching his dad make sandwiches and growing up to make sandwiches. I smile. Happy. . I think about all the people who walk into this sandwich shop incredibly hungry and leave satisfied. I smile. Happy. I watch him flipping the spatula like a baton, always catching the handle end and never the flipping end. I think about whether they had spatula competitions. I imagine an intense chef-off with only spatula spinning as the main event and a giant spatula trophy. I chuckle. Happy. I turn to the woman next to me, also waiting for her sandwich, and say, “Wow, I’m so excited for my sandwich.” She nods her head. “ME TOO! I HAVENT EATEN ALL DAY!” Happy. The “order-up” bell chimes and the sandwich man smiles. Happy. I sit down at the table and take a bite. Happy. I look over at the sandwich man, cheerfully flipping eggs and rolling wraps, and laughing with his staff. Happy. I take another bite and sip my diet coke, thinking wow this delicious. The fizzy cola was the perfect combination. Great choice. Happy. A little boy asks the sandwich man for a slice of cheese. I’ve never seen anyone happier to eat cheese. Happy. I take the last bite of my sandwich and reach for my drink. Oblivious to the slurping sound from the ice and the straw as I try to get every drop, realizing how loud it was, and laughing at myself. Happy.

What a great sandwich. I think to myself.

The ache is gone. Suddenly, the feeling in my chest is flooded with gratitude. What a blessing to be able to buy myself that sandwich. What a blessing to not be in the cold. What a blessing to sit here and enjoy every second of every bite. What a small little thing in the grand scheme of everyday that just re-directed my entire perspective.

Every single day, this man wakes up, splashes water on his face and gets dressed. He grabs his cup of coffee and hops on the subway. He passes all the people walking to their office jobs. He passes all the people in corporate world, working jobs that inflate their wallets and dilute their happiness. Maybe, from time to time, he thinks about being something more than what he is. Maybe, he doesn’t even realize how important he truly is.

He arrives at the sandwich shop and his day begins.

To the man who made my sandwich,

Thank you.