When in doubt, make your own fucking sandwich.

Gelsons is one of my favorite supermarkets. Besides having a wonderful variety of fresh organic fruit, along with all the natural organic hippie cleaning products my little heart could desire, I've always walked by the deli in awe, because it seems so vast, muchos grande in comparison to your average Ralphs, or Vons, neither which men I have yet to see in their fine stores. Not that I ran into Mr. Gelson, but after this last visit, I must say I'd like to. To slap him across the fucking face.

This morning I woke up, painted, masturbated, and found myself craving a mozzarella, tomato, basil and prosciutto sandwich. Sounds delish right? With a little salt and pepper, some olive oil and vinegar, the sandwich had been dancing across my mind since the second nut I bust somewhere around 10:30am. By 2pm, and about 6 orgasms later, I found I could no longer deny the urge, the primordial craving for fresh cheese and some good thin slices of ham.

I met Charlie, the Vietcong deli man today, and he ruined my life. Not he himself, he was an idiot, and there has to be someone else to blame for his idiocy, but he ruined my Gelsons experience, forever.

I walk up to Charlie and he politely asks if I'd like a sandwich.

Charlie: Can help you eat sandwich?

Me: well, no you can't actually help me, but yes, I'd like a sandwich.

Charlie: okay, what kin?

Me: uh, how about on a ciabatta roll, some thinly sliced prosciutto, tomato, fresh mozzarella and basil. Oh, and olive oil and vinegar, salt and pepper.

Charlie: uh, no, we no have roll. Only small bread. Too small.

Me: okay, too small huh?

Now I'm curious as to this tiny ciabatta roll he speaks of. Is it smaller than my hand? Can I eat it in one bite? Is it like that tiny little bread that is oh so cute but utterly disgusting when you put it in your mouth? Lets just see this roll.

It looks just fine. Regular sized ciabatta roll.

Me: okay, how about it. Just put it on there.

Charlie: No, its too small for  sandwich.

Me: okay, well try using two, that will be like one of your giant sandwiches.

Charlie: Okay, I have charge for extra roll.

Me: But you're the one telling me its too small!

Charlie and I briefly stare-down, the old who blinks first game. He wins. Fucking Vietcong, you fucking guerilla, you win this battle. But there will be more.

Charlie: okay, you wan I put a meat?

Me (in my head): I think I already answered this question.

Me (outloud): yeah, some thinly sliced prosciutto. Please.

Charlie: Okay, no, we no have, no wait. Okay, but it slice not too thin.

Me: Listen. Just do it how you do it okay, I just want a fucking sandwich.

Charlie: Okay, you want lettuce tomato?

Me: no, no lettuce. Basil please. And tomato.

Charlie: No, we no have basil, we don do that kinna ting. Sometimes we do special ting, but no basil.

Me: you don't do what kind of thing? You mean make fucking sandwiches? Where am I?

Charlie: you wan I putta lettuce?

Me: look Charlie, I want the fucking ham, fresh mozzarella, the tomato, olive oil, vinegar, and salt and pepper. I'm going to go buy a couple things and I'll be back.

Charlie: okay, I make a sandwich for you.

Me: thank you fucking god.

From here, I bite my tongue the entire way to the fresh fruit section so that I can buy my own goddamn basil, and put it on the sandwich I'm starting to think I should have just made myself. And a little fruit salad for dessert.

Back to the deli, I find Charlie, who has smothered my bread with vinegar/olive oil icky pre-made mix, well not actually smothered, its like he dipped the bread in a bucket of the shit, and then slapped back on the counter, covered in salt, the granules I can actually see from 10 feet back at the counter, and I notice the meat he is about to lay on it.

Salmon? Are you fucking kidding me?

Me: yo, I don't think that is prosciutto homie.

Charlie: Oh, you meant prosciutto!

Me: Yeah, what the fuck did you think I said? Salmitto?

Charlie: oh, okay, I make you a sandwich now.

Me: Thank fucking god, I was about to come back there myself.

Charlie see's my frustration and gets a new baguette. Good job VC, if you don't start acting right I will climb back there and slap you with my Chanel purse like the north and south merging and kicking all Vietcong's asses.

Okay, Charlie is finished. He brings me the sandwich. I look at it. A pile of ham in between two olive oil/vinegar dipped bread rolls.

Me: yo, is there tomato in here? How about mozzarella? Where the fuck is my fresh cheese?

Charlie: oh, you said you wan cheese? Okay, I put a cheese.

Me: and some fucking tomato please?

Charlie: oh, how much pepper you wan I put?

Me: Charlie, listen, don't worry about the fucking pepper. Lets just get through the tomato and mozzarella.

This is when Charlie reaches under the counter and pulls out pre sliced pieces of processed mozzarella cheese. I fucking lose it.

Me: Listen Charlie, you little fuck, you better find some goddamn fresh mozzerella back there in your fancy Gelsons bag of fucking tricks, this is the shittiest fucking sandwich experience I have ever had, and I am about to walk away from all of it. If I wanted string cheese I would have gone to my fucking fridge! Now find me some goddamn fresh mozzarella cheese.

Charlie: I got the mozzarella, you say you wan tomato yeah? No lettuce?

Me: JUST GIVE ME THE FUCKING SANDWICH, YOU LITTLE FUCK I WILL HAVE YOUR FUCKING NUTS IN IT IF YOU DON'T JUST GIVE IT TO ME RIGHT NOW.

White guys standing next to Charlie who witnessed the whole fucking thing: We don't have any fresh mozzarella. Sorry.

Me: That's it. Fine. I'm through. Give me the sandwich. GIMME THE FUCKING SANDWICH.

Charlie: okay, sorry, $8.00.

Me: ARE YOU SHITTING ME? Eight dollars for the shittiest sandwich I may ever eat, one which I had to buy my own basil for? One which doesn't even have fresh fucking cheese? Where the fuck is this Gelson fucker? I am going to have a conniption fit here in 5 seconds.

I left Gelsons very upset. My whole day just got shit on. And all it took was some serious miscommunication between myself, very hungry, and Charlie, an outdated and squashed guerilla group. Today's experience taught me one thing. If you are ever in doubt, make your own fucking sandwich.