The Man Who Loved Sandwiches

Sam loved sandwiches; he always had. Even when he was a young boy, his mother would tell stories about Sam making his own sandwiches in the kitchen, intoxicated by the deli meats and condiments, so many condiments. That love never waivered with age, he continued to obsess over sandwiches, always searching for something grander, something that would really “knock his socks off” as he put it.

People told Sam that he should start his own sandwich shop. “You could call it SAMwich,” they would say. But Sam was never a business man; he was a sandwich man.

He worked at Kinkos only to save up enough money so that he could travel to the next restaurant proclaiming “Best Sandwich in America.” He would eat and leave, not saying a word to the staff, eventually making a name for himself amongst sandwich shop owners. The sandwiches were good, but his socks, his socks remained on.

One day, as Sam Ask Jeeves searched his next restaurant, a friend burst through the door. Still trying to catch his breath, “Sam . . . there . . . I found the best . . . san—“ Sam interrupted, “What do you want, Cole. I don’t have time for your SHIT.” (Cole fucked Sam’s ex-girlfriend.) “Sam . . . what happened between Beth and I is in the past . . . I have more important news. . . I found the best . . . THE BEST SANDWICH IN THE WORLD,” he finished, the words echoing in Sam’s ear. Sam dropped his Macintosh Portable.

“Where.”

A day later, after pooling every cent that he had, Sam was on an airplane to India. The best sandwich in the world could be found deep in the forest, at a small, family-owned restaurant called simply, Ajeet’s Crazy Sandwich Shack!

Sam had to train first, though. And so he went into the Himalayas, to the Paro Taktsang Montasery, and he trained with the sandwich guru. He stayed for 20 days and 20 nights until he was ready, and trust me, he was ready. He battled his way through a harsh storm on his way down, losing three of his toes. Finally, after a month of travel, he arrived at Ajeets Crazy Sandwich Shack!.

Ajeet, a docile and mysterious man, was already waiting. He directed him to a special seat in the corner, where the sandwich was already waiting. “Is this the sandwich?” asked Sam. Ajeet just turned and left, disappearing through beaded door curtains. Sam took his first bite: it was sweet and salty. The texture was perfect—a bit crunchy, like a peanut crunc — “PEANU,” Sam tried to get out, but it was too late, he was dead. Overwhelmed with excitement, he forgot to mention his peanut allergy, or even check for peanuts like he had always done. He did, however, manage one more tweet that read, “best ev”.

People still argue about what he was trying to say to his 87 followers in that final tweet. Some say he was trying to tell the world that the sandwich was the “best ever,” others say Heroin Girl was playing at the time and he was tweeting “best everclear song!” Who knows, all we know is that Sam died doing what he loved most: eating sandwiches.

Sam’s friends started that sandwich shop for him to carry on his legacy. So the next time you are in Traverse City, Michigan, just look for the large yellow sign that reads SAMwich.

Your Mother’s Favorite,

Nash Faulk

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