A SHORT STORY - I ONLY WENT INTO THE DELI TO EAT A SANDWICH

I ONLY WENT TO THE DELI TO EAT A SANDWICH
by JACK TOM

I’d woken up without a terrible hang over and that was a nice change. I thought, hell, maybe I’ll get some of those nagging errands done today. After an English muffin and a glass of water I jumped onto my motorcycle and rode from one place to another, getting things done. Exchanging the muzzle I’d bought my dog for a bigger one. Returning a knife that I’d never intended to keep. Buying a little rope crimper at the hardware store, that kinda shit.
And it was fun, too, riding around on my motorcycle on cool, cloudy day, from one place to another, getting things done. So on my way home I thought I’d stop in at this little deli and buy a sandwich. I had this hunger building in my gut and there was no need for me to starve. I worked. I had money. And back at home there were no groceries, only beer and condiments in the fridge.
Right outside the deli there was a free parking space and I whipped in and pulled the key from the ignition and went inside. And there they were, three of my friends. Billy, Mitchells, and the Kid.
“oh, shit,” I said.
They had just gotten back from Boston and they were all laughing and wandering around the deli.
I nodded to them and went to the counter. Billy was eating a sandwich and he just sat there, chewing away. Mitchell was sitting at a different table for some reason, drinking a bottle of mineral water. But the Kid came right up to me and immediately started blabbering away like he always did, about this and that and all sorts of bullshit.
This girl Dee was behind the counter. Blonde, quite plump with a cute round face. We exchanged greetings and I began to order.
“I’ll take a large veggie sub,” I said.
“what do you want on it? er, is there anything you don’t want.”
“yeah, uh, no tomatoes or cucumbers-”
I never liked tomatoes and for some reason at that moment I didn’t care much for cucumbers, either.
“hey, man, so we just got back from Boston,” interrupted the Kid.
I turned to him, “oh yeah? nice.”
Then back to Dee who was waiting to continue.
“what kinda cheese do you want on it?”
“I’ll take swiss and provolone, please.”
“facials, pedicures, manicures,” slobbered the Kid. “two nights in the Four Seasons won’t be cheap, either,” he sniggered.
I ignored his buzzing in my ear and Dee said to me, “do you want any dressing or mayo or mustard?”
“and then a night in the Raddison...”
“I’ll take mustard, please.”
“that’ll probably run me about a grand,” the Kid laughed, “the way we left that place.”
“what kinda mustard?”
“uh, French’s, or whatever. Yellow.”
“then I took these guys to Saks Fifth Ave. and I got us all fitted for suits,”
“hey!” I snapped at him. “can you shut up for a minute?”
The Kid turned and walked off, this awkward skip, bouncing around like he had a hot poker up his ass. In fact, everything about him looked ridiculous. These big Gucci sunglasses and these pointy, designer leather shoes, some expensive jeans, the kind you buy new with holes and stains on them, and then some stupid bright pink button-up shirt.
He looked like some fool who’d lucked himself into a relationship with one of those young Hollywood whores. He had this look about him like he’d never done a hard day’s work in his life.
“and could I get salt and pepper on that, too,” I said to Dee who was behind the counter, building my sandwich.
She smiled and said, “sure.”
The Kid did took a quick walk around the deli and then came back and continued bantering on.
“that was, like, a four thousand dollar weekend, man.”
“on daddy’s credit card, huh?”
“I gotta sell my jeep,” he smiled sheepishly.
“If I were him I’d kick yer fuckin’ ass,” I said, shaking my head. “right out the fuckin’ front door.”
A few minutes later Dee handed me my sandwich and rang me up. I grabbed a Dr. Pepper out of the drink cooler and said, “and this, too.”
Then I sat down and began to eat. The Kid sat down in the same booth and opened his phone and began to flip through pictures he had taken over the weekend.
“hey,” he shouted right in my face. “look at these pictures. Here, look at these.”
He pushed the phone towards my face and I batted his hand away.
“no.”
“come on, look at these.”
“get outta here.”
“why, they’re pictures. Look at ‘em.”
“I don’t wanna look at ‘em.”
“why not?”
“because I didn’t come here to look at pictures of your weekend. I don’t give a damn about your weekend. I came here to eat a fuckin’ sandwich.”