John the Sandwich Man

At lunchtime, the diner was so busy that nobody took any note of the entrance of the large man in the black shirt. His inconspicuousness was surprising, however, as he was a very striking character. If nothing else, the man was huge, at least six and a half feet tall and four-hundred some pounds. His stomach took a jiggling bounce with each momentous step. Atop the man’s head was a cowboy hat. A greasy pony tail extended from the back. The man’s glasses seemed far too small for his bulk, and made the man’s face scrunch up like a rat smelling sour cheese. Grease stains marked the man’s black shirt and jeans. There were even splotches on the small length of blanket that the man had tied around his neck like a cape. Without hesitation, the man rumbled over to an empty table by the window and sat down. The chair groaned beneath his mass.
         A tiny waitress approached the man. With an easy smile she lifted her notepad.
         “How are you today sir? My name is Cindy, and I will be your waitress today.”
         The man did not reply. His demeanor did not hint that he had even heard the waitress. Disconcerted, the waitress tried again.
         “How are you today, sir? I am your waitress. What would you like to drink?”
         The man jerked up his head violently, startling the waitress. He looked at her with a sneer on his face, and then opened his mouth to speak. His voice was as tremendous as he was, very deep and very loud.
                   “You can call me John the sandwich man.
                   My words come in verse, whenever they can.
                   And with my stomach, my mouth, and my hand
                   I’ll eat all the sandwiches in the land.”

         Before the waitress could give voice to her bewildered expression, the huge man belched and continued.

                   “Now who am I to eat this wich of sand?
                   I am the wave that sucks sand in bands.
                   I am the stake that burns witches’ feet
                   From me, no sandwich can have a retreat.

                   Then I’ll have steak between bread to eat,
Yes, such a sandwich is a tasty treat.”

         By the conclusion of the man’s speech the diner had grown very quiet and still. Several patrons’ arms hung midway on the way to their mouths. Brows were furrowed and glances were darted between the dining guests. The waitress had taken several steps back from the man and the easiness of her smile had dissipated, leaving only a faint shadow of a forced expression.
         In a very small voice the waitress repeated her introduction, “How are you today sir? I am your waitress for today. My name is Cindy. Can I get you something to drink?”
         In unison the diners swiveled their heads to gaze at the huge man. He looked to his left, paused, looked down, and picked his head up to reply.
                   “You ask me if I want a beverage
                   Something unknown to me since a naïve age
                   Foreign to me since I learned the adage:
                   ‘A sandwich is all one needs to manage.’

                   I, John, was not always the sandwich man
                   Who eats only what is held in his hands

                   When I was a youth I used utensils
                   Of all sorts, forks, knives, and even pencils
                   Now I shun all kinds of silverware
                   Because, as each of you should be aware

                   I am known as Great John the sandwich man
                   Who eats only what is held in his hands.

                   When I was younger and I knew hunger
                   I did not always demand a burger
                   In fact, sometimes I would even order
                   Something from a carton, a bowl, or platter.

                   One day, however, I learned the lesson
                   That food is better between a fresh bun
                   With top and bottom, because without one
                   The act of eating loses all of its fun.

                   So please, Ms. Waitress, don’t give me a can
                   Of food, nor soup, nor drink, nor flan
                   Please, please, adhere to my strict diet plan
                   Give me a sandwich, a great wich of sand!
                   
                    For I am John, the mighty sandwich man
                   And I can only eat food with my hands.”

         By this time, the manager of the diner had come to the aid of the young waitress. He nudged her shoulder gently, and she moved to hide behind him. The manager cleared his throat while he collected his thoughts. The choking sound resonated in the silent diner. Finally, the manager thought of words to say. He spoke slowly and calmly.
         “Sir, we can serve you a sandwich. But right now you are behaving ridiculously. You need to stop shouting. Everybody here just wants to enjoy a nice meal. So please just stop causing such a ruckus. Otherwise we are going to call the police. Do you understand me? Just nod yes or no.”
         The huge man faintly nodded.
The manager continued, “Okay. Now, what kind of sandwich would you like?”
         An uneven smile contorted the man’s face so that his expression resembled that of an especially demented Jack-O-Lantern. The man grabbed his cape and leapt from his chair onto the table. The chair broke as he jumped, but the table did not. Atop the table the man stood prancing, shouting at the top of his lungs.

                   “Now I am renowned, I, John the sandwich man
                   My words come in verse whenever they can
                   By now you all know my great perfect plan
                   To eat all the sandwiches in the land!

                   Give me all the sandwiches that you have
                   Give them to me one by one on a slab
                   I now demand to have all I can grab
                   Give me all sandwiches: parts, wholes and halves!”

         Looking around at the piteous stares of his patrons, the manager decided against calling the police. Instead, he gestured at the two large waiters that had stayed close to the boisterous customer in case violence arose.
         “Bring the man some sandwiches.”
         The cook, normally a slothful man, had anticipated such a request. As such, a large plate of nine sandwiches sat prepared on the counter. There were two turkey subs, a chicken biscuit, three hamburgers, two BLT’s, and an ice cream sandwich for dessert. One large waiter went to retrieve the full tray. When he saw the food, the huge man gingerly stepped off of the table. He pulled up a chair and eyed the tray eagerly. Once the waiter set it down, the man picked up one turkey sub and started to eat. Mesmerized, the restaurant patrons and employees watched the sandwich disappear in massive chunks. Upon finishing the turkey sub, the man started to consume a hamburger. Grease slipped carelessly down his face and onto his shirt. The cowboy hat trembled on his head with every ponderous swallow. He picked up the ice cream sandwich, but only ate half before he set it down and looked around. His face was red and sweaty with exertion. When he realized that the entire crowd was observing him with rapt attention, the man began to address the audience. This time, however, his voice was much quieter and more subdued than before.

                   “I fear that I now must ask your pardon
                   This dilemma, it is quite a hard one
                   Please, please do not think me some fool
                   But, I must say that I now find myself full.
                   
                   Believe me that I wish it weren’t so
                   But there is no more room down below
                   I wish you all well, and you all should plan
                   To see once again, John the very good sandwich man.”

         With this proclamation, the man rose and pulled several grimy bills from his pocket. Leaving them on the table, he nodded at the waitress and the manager and walked out the door. The people in the restaurant looked around at one another, but nobody knew what to say.