For lunch there isn't much of a choice—it's either the Vending Machines O' Death at The Company, or a 24 hour gas station with a very good deli section.
It's pretty much no contest.
So I walk into the gas station with the very good deli section and place my order: “Ham and cheese, half size on white.”
The clerk behind the counter grabs the break and asks, “What type of meat do you want?”
This isn't an isolated case either. Years ago I used to stop off at Subway since it was on the way to work and the following exchange would routinely happen:
Opening move. “Yes, I'd like a foot long ham and cheese on white.”
Counter move: “What type of bread?”
“White.” What, like I'm going to say, No, I'd like my white bread to be wheat please.
“You want cheese with that?”
No, I want my ham and cheese without cheese, thank you. “Yes please.” Sometimes “American.” Depends on the cheese selection and the store.
And the killer move: “What type of meat?” Check and mate!
Uh, hold the ham. Yes, I'll have a hamless ham and cheese without the cheese. Yes, that would be great. Sigh.
Charles Chips! Okay, so they were bagged instead of canned, but … Charles Chips!
Years and years ago (and we're talking at least twenty years here) I remember Alice (who used to watch me after school) buying these huge tins of BBQ Charles Chips and I would sit in front of the TV and gorge myself on them. Wonderful BBQ potato chip goodness in a can. I couldn't get enough of them.
But that was then, and this is now. And I haven't seen a Charles Chip in over twenty years. But now … there it is … a rack of Charles Chips!
They're as good as I remember them to be.