Right about noon on Thursday, I found myself knee-deep in a familiar predicament: I’d forgotten to bring anything to work with me suitable for lunch-time consumption.  What was I do? Scrounge from desk to desk, begging for ancient granola bars ferretted away in desk drawers for emergency use only?  Ignore the roiling pangs of hunger growling in my stomach until they reached such a cacophony that my coworkers might have to ask who brought the Big Bad Wolf to work? Or should I have inflicted my righteous state of “hangry” (hungry + angry) upon unsuspecting passers-by,  indistinguishable from Joe Pesci from that Snickers commercial?  Well, indistinguishable except, I guess, that I’m taller and a little more, um, stout.

Anyway, since none of those options seemed like a good plan for either my career or human society as a whole, I decided my best choice was to walk a block down the street and pick up a sandwich.  Satisfied that I’d settled on a reasonable course of action, I acquired a sandwich of my liking: turkey on rye, tomato, lettuce, and a healthy smear of strong mustard.  Yes, mustard. Because mayo is gloopy and wrong, dammit. Wrong, I say.

Mayo is for the weak.

Anyway, when I returned to my desk with said goodness-between-sliced-bread, I unwrapped it with glee in joyful anticipating of slaying my beastly early afternoon hunger.

And then I was wracked with disappointment.  Because, like so many times in the past, my sandwich was fundamentally flawed.  Sure, sure, it’d probably taste fine, but some bites would be so enormous I wouldn’t be able to fit my mouth around them, while others would be little but a mouthful of dry, toasted bread.  And that assumes the thing didn’t disintegrate in my hands two bites in, meat and tomatoes exploding out the rear triangular flap like a tube of toothpaste squeezed via Sledge-O-Matic.

So, of course, I did what most any normal person does in 2013. I took my privileged, whiny, #firstworldproblems complaint immediately to twitter:

Of course, I was not surprised that the interwebs flocked to support my rant against sandwich tyranny.  Many, many people agreed and spread my message of sandwich-building hope. Like, probably even 5 altogether. I’m disappointed, though, that as of yet, no one has contacted me to discuss plans to open such a delicatessen. But it’s only been a couple of days, I guess. These things probably take time. Like winemaking. And publishing.

Man, I should probably get some hobbies that don’t require patience. Anybody have any suggestions?

At any rate, tweet-enable tirade aside, I had planned to use this topic for a Weekend Debate, but now that I think about it, there’s obviously nothing to debate here. Poor deli sandwich construction is a travesty. Thoughts and/or opinions to the contrary are invalid.

With that in mind, then, let’s all go out this weekend and make ourselves some awesome, well-built sandwiches.

And try not to break anything.

Pud’n