Sorry Your Sandwich Is Ruined

It's lunch time, a time to enjoy whatever you must shove down your gullet and make the call to get your manicure and pedicure and brazilian and whatever else you need to do in the meager 30 minutes your employment allows.

While your doing this juggling act, something that you don't want to happen is to get someone's inner monologue directed towards their sandwich and their hatred of how it has been made.

"These motherfuckers put peppers on my sandwich, I hate peppers, why the fuck would they put peppers on my sandwich" followed shortly by "I think I'm allergic to peppers, do you like steak sandwich, you can have this half".

As delighted as I would be to get half of a sandwich made by a motherfucker, I believe this time I will quietly decline and hope to find a new and less intrusive lunching area tomorrow.