Conor Cawley: Douglas Adams Eats a Sandwich

One of the biggest benefits to having a writing group is that we find inspiration in each other’s work. A writer will come up with a piece that kickstarts a theme as each group member in turn comes up with their own take on the same concept. One of our favorite themes has been “Author Eating a Sandwich.” Check out our past pieces and come to our live show on Aug. 26th for the opportunity to purchase our compilation zine!

 

He ordered a turkey sub. It wasn’t the kind of place you typically ordered a sandwich, what with the terrible lighting and the red sticky spot on his table that he hoped was ketchup but had slowly begun to suspect otherwise. Plus, there was a sign on the front of the restaurant that read “Beware the Sandwiches” that was clearly posted by a patron rather than management. But still, he was hungry. Like really, really hungry.

The sandwich arrived much faster than any self-respecting restaurateur would allow. So fast in fact that he was certain that it had been pre-made in anticipation of his arrival, a fact he found fascinating as he had never been to this restaurant before. The waiter placed the plate directly on top of the ambiguous red spot, officially making it somebody else’s problem.

The sandwich was big. Really big. Vastly, massively, hugely, gigantically big. You really wouldn’t believe how big this sandwich was, particularly considering the dilapidated condition of the restaurant and the absence of an actual menu.

He didn’t know when to start, let alone where. They hadn’t even cut the sandwich in half. The kind of restaurant that doesn’t cut a sandwich this large in half is presumably the kind of place that allows customers to put “Beware the Sandwiches” signs on the front of the building.

The turkey sub tasted almost, but not quite, entirely unlike actual food. The tomato was almost certainly some kind of dehydrated alien backside, while the lettuce resembled the child’s version of lettuce found in toy sets. The turkey was definitely meat, the type of which was likely a mystery to the chef as well as the waiter. The bread overwhelmingly tasted like bread, which was, by far, the biggest problem with the sandwich.

It took him far too long to eat the entire thing. Particularly because no one had any business finishing a sandwich that big, making the attention it garnered from the rest of the restaurant more than warranted.

But they kept looking. They weren’t blinking. Or moving. Or doing anything inconspicuous at all. It was like a computer program had broken because he actually finished the entire sandwich.

Then, everything went white.

 

That was weird.

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