The Farmer’s Lunch

I Ate Lunch Today

I can’t stand it when people assume that I scroll Facebook to hear about what they ate for lunch:

"I had a Chicago style hot dog today: amazing with an extra zing!" [Followed by a picture of a hot dog, which is just wrong.]

"That chili I found in the back of the fridge was delicious, but my plumbing is paying for it now! Like, for realz." [Followed by a close-up picture of Chili, which could easily be confused with a picture of the post-chili plumbing issue.]

Rest assured, I wouldn’t do something like that, because nobody cares about my lunch.

Speaking of which, I didn’t bring a lunch to work, but I did bring a credit card, which is almost as good. After several minutes pondering, I finally decided that the best way to throw away my hard-earned money was by patronizing Heritage’s. I think they’re mainly known for their dairy products, but they also sell subs (hoagies if you’re into that sort of thing).

About now you might be wondering, "why would you buy lunch from Heritage’s when there’s always a Wawa nearby?" It’s true. I could see a Wawa from the Heritage’s parking lot. Wawa is delicious, fast, and not too expensive, but I feel like part of some underground resistance group by going to Heritage’s. It was me, a police officer, a construction worker, and a Mom with kids (who may have been grocery shopping at Heritage’s? I didn’t stay long enough to find out definitively–had I spied on her, I would be the bigger weirdo, by far–plus, the cop may have intervened). But we all had a common bond, that of being independent thinkers, not one of those drones ordering Wawa from the hyper-convenient touchscreen.

So I ordered a "heritage" (large) sized Roast Beef and cheese sub (mayo, mustard, onions, lettuce, tomatoes , and pickles, if you must know). While waiting, I grabbed a chocolate milk (I cannot resist chocolate milk, especially if it’s made with whole milk–all the fat, please) and paid for my order. Then I waited. Now, at Heritage’s they take your order then begin cutting the meat into slices. So fresh! But you have to wait a bit because of this. Sipping away at my chocolate milk (okay, there’s no such thing as sipping chocolate milk–there is only chugging) I notice a placard on the counter, denoting that James Somethingorother was the employee of the month. Before long it became clear that James was out today (or maybe he went to work at Wawa? Who knows?), because time dragged on, and on, and my sandwich did not become manifest. I walked around, drooling over all the ice cream goodies they have in the store. And I waited some more.

About the time I was finished with my chocolate milk, one of the two people making sandwiches went and handed a sandwich to the construction worker, who’d come in after me. Mr. Submaker had to walk across the store to find the construction worker and hand him the sandwich, so I figured he knew exactly who he was looking for. Nope, construction guy helpfully pointed out to Mr. Submaker that it wasn’t his (he’d ordered 2 sandwiches, not just the one). I asked him if it was roast beef, and sure enough, it was mine.

The moral of this story: Join the resistance, go to Heritage’s. Just make sure you drink chocolate milk while you await your sandwich, and all you can really do is hope that James, or your local branch’s employee of the month, is working that day.