The man behind the counter explains that he’s going to run to the back to get some more chicken for the small sandwich. I shrug and smile but I’m in a bit of a hurry. I will need to eat and walk if I don’t want to be late. I’m not even sure of the room number.
I watch as people of all shapes and sizes collect their various orders of coffee and tea. The petite blond, the tall brunette, then a skinny guy with braces, they are each in their own world. They take their turn, grabbing beverages while I wait. My fascination with people watching begins to lose its appeal; my mouth waters as I stare at the incomplete toasted chicken sandwich.
Finally, the man with the chicken returns. He throws some bacon on for good measure and it’s complete! I decline a bag. I’m anxious to rip into that sandwich that I’d been thinking about since I left the house.
I unwrap the paper, ready to dig in when suddenly, in a moment of gross miscalculation, half the sandwich falls—it’s much smaller than anticipated and the prospect of recovering it vanishes before the thought is fully formed.
I stand dejected amongst a crowd of disconnected people, bacon, tomato, and chicken strewn out before me.
I will have plenty of time to find my class.