To The Owner Of The Sandwich In The Office Fridge

Dear Sir or Madam,

I couldn’t help but notice your sandwich in the fridge on Friday. I can’t decide whether you are crazy or a genius. Or maybe you’re a crazy genius and that’s what make me so intrigued. First of all, it’s a total power move and I’m slightly intimidated with the nonchalance and pure strategy of the loosely wrapped wax paper you’ve employed. It makes me scared for my job that someone so focused on work and avoidant of various office building “time sucks” is lurking, likely waiting for me to make a mistake. It makes me question the hundreds of little things I do on a daily basis while I should be working. I’ve been putting my dishes up, replacing the paper towels in the upstairs bathroom, pushing my chairs in, wiping the Sriracha nozzle off after use, and screwing the top on my Nalgene unless I’m drinking from it. All things that make me ‘tidy’ I guess, but they really stand in the way of results-oriented work. You’re clearly a productivity maven and likely mastering all seven of the highly-effective habits.

Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I also feel like I’ve stumbled upon some kind of Prometheus-ian biohacking practice too bold and avant-garde for less trailblazing individuals such as myself. See while everyone who works around other humans spends most of winter and spring overly concerned with hand-washing, essential oil snorting and slathering, and other germ-effacing rituals you’ve done what young leaders often struggle with. You’ve run to trouble. You have brilliantly left a consumable item exposed to any and all manner of community fridge microbiome. In fact, I know for certain I’ve seen dairy products, produce, prepared sauces, meats and more all laid exposed among these shelves over my tenure here—so I think I’ve found your hallmark—your immortality experiment. You’re probably immune to anything at this point. Now, like Edward Jenner, who discovered the vaccine for smallpox when he noticed the milkmaids weren’t scabbing over from head to toe and falling over dead as the rest of the populace was, all I have to do is see who never gets sick around here. Then I will know you.

Now to anyone else, this sandwich may seem like the kind of free sandwich you can get at a realtor’s open house, an AA meeting, or a post-funeral reception for a rural community leader. I don’t think that’s what you have here. First of all, wax paper is hard to come by at an AA meeting and even harder at an open house —unless it’s an elementary school. This isn’t just a freebie sammy. You Sir or Madam have good taste as signified by the delivery method bread of choice. There is no better sandwich than one that comes on a croissant. Furthermore, people want to get weird when the French ingredients come out, but you’ve played it cool with the cheese. Some might go too hard here with a brie or a Reblochon but you’ve folded over, hurriedly or brilliantly, I’m not sure which yet, a perfectly square piece of Colby jack. I’m not sure if you chose the square of cheese for the croissant because you knew you would and wanted to fold it over, or you folded it over because you didn’t want a whole half flapping around between the crescent points. Either way, the subtle flavored cheese folded in half probably tastes better than a fancy-pants Boursin given the whole lightness of a croissant sandwich. Well done. The meat also looks dry-aged to perfection like a salty, sweet Jamon Iberico. Genius. And here’s the flash of culinary erudition, this sandwich actually looks pressed. I’m impressed because many people do not know the Sandwich Master Level 10 Secret of the press, but you Sir or Madam, do. Or maybe it’s just regular dried out ham and you accidentally sat on it on your way to work.

I’m going to go with genius. Teach me your ways.