“Huh?” I replied from a mid-afternoon daze.
“Eighteen dollars and 19 cents is your total.”
I awkwardly looked down at what I was purchasing.
“I’m just getting this.” I said as I picked up my wrapped turkey sandwich, and a bottle of Dasani water.
“Yes, all of our food is made fresh daily.”
I stared at her with a look she had probably seen 20 times today. She knew it was an absurd price, she also knew that was a ridiculous answer. Of course your sandwich was made today, this isn’t 7-11.
“Ummm, ok.” I reluctantly paid and realized that no matter what, my lunch was going to be disappointing.
I walked out to the small attached courtyard and took a seat at one of the red picnic tables that surrounded the square. I peeled the brown deli paper off one side of my recent purchase and took a bite. It was good, but only $8 or $9 good.
A mother and child, or what appeared to be a mother and child were sitting directly across from me. Mom was dressed like an $18 sandwich is something she doesn’t think twice about. She was on the phone, while the child, who was likely between 7-10 years old impatiently bounced on the bench next to her.
I took another bite.
Empty wrappers littered the table in front of them, lunch was over, and this kid is about to lose it.
She dismisses him again without eye contact as she brushes his tugging hand off of her upper arm.
The kid has a red mustache on his upper lip, a result of whatever sugary beverage is sitting in his half empty cup. He spins around.
My eyes wander around the courtyard, scanning for something else interesting. I slowly eye the handful of other snackers, none of which grab my attention. A quiet Tuesday afternoon.
I start into the second half of my sandwich and come back to the scene across from me. The child has buried his head into his folded arms on top of the table. He peeks up and reaches for his cup with one hand, turning his head slightly towards his mother, who is still fully engrossed in her phone conversation. He scoots the cup closer to the edge, takes another quick look, and tips the cup over spilling the red high fructose drink all over his moms white pants. All over. She drops the phone onto the concrete patio. I can hear the screen crack just before she lets out a yelp.
So, I was wrong, this lunch was not disappointing.