Special order

The line at Panera was wickedly long this afternoon. Everyone had questions about the menu, special instructions with their order, and a jar of pennies to pay with.

"What are you ordering?"
"Chicken salad sandwich."
"Good."
"Why?"
"Deli meat is bad for pignant people."
"Don't say pignant."
"Hey, I'll give you twenty dollars if you say 'I would like a chicken salad sandwich on your freshest bread'."

Julie thought this was a fantastic idea. I flashed her a crisp Andrew Jackson as proof of its existence, and we inched forward in the line.

"Can I help you?"
I ordered first. "You-pick-two with turkey chickpea chili and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."
"Uh, we can't put a children's sandwich in a you-pick-two."

This was unexpected.

"Okay, I'll have a cup of turkey chickpea chili and half a PB&J; charge me whatever you want."
"We can't do half sandwiches unless they're with you-pick-twos."

Who's on first? What's on second?

"A whole one then, and you can have half of it."
"Thank you."

I eyed Julie to indicate that the dare was still on. She took a deep breath and said, "I'll have a chicken salad sandwich," and then she totally cracked up and could not continue speaking.

The worker girl turned to me, cock-eyed. "That'll be twelve-hundred dollars. You said I could charge you whatever I wanted."

Once our kid arrives, I'll take her to Panera and she can eat the other half of my PB&J. That'll be cool.