Partly Cloudy, 64°
Earlier today at Benefit Street eatery Geoff’s Sandwiches, Barry Abelman ’14 ordered a pastrami sandwich with mustard on wheat. He soon realized that the sandwich was both delicious and the pinnacle of his entire existence.
“This is a really good sandwich,” said Abelman, whose existence offers nothing more appealing than a stack of meat and bread. “Sometimes they put on too much lettuce, and it covers up the meat and cheese. Not this time though.”
Added Abelman, “It’s all downhill from here.”
The roast beef, noted Abelman, was a particularly thick cut, which alone provided more satisfaction than senior prom, the birth of his baby sister and the aggregated joy of all his friendships combined. The crisp multigrain wheat bread was more enjoyable than each of his birthdays. Even the pleasurable rustle of the paper bag the sandwich came in caused Abelman far more pleasure than he can ever expect from anyone in his family.
“This is it,” said Abelman, as he finished the first half of the sandwich. “I will never do anything more impressive or feel anything more satisfying than eating this pastrami sandwich. I’m sure glad I decided to eat a sandwich for lunch today.”
The sandwich called to mind Abelman’s prior triumphs, such as the time he got an extra Diet Sprite from a vending machine at the YMCA. Even then, says Abelman, he knew that there was something better waiting out there: an unusually tasty sandwich.
“These are some high-quality tomatoes,” noted Abelman. “Especially seeing as I never really learned to connect with people, it’s a pretty big deal to me how good these tomatoes are. I’m going to relive the experience of eating these tomatoes over and over and over again.”
Abelman dug into the final quarter of his sandwich. “I will never love anyone as much as I love this sandwich,” said Abelman. “And I don’t even love this sandwich that much. I know it’s the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, but it’s just a sandwich, after all.”
Abelman, with his last slow bite, finished off the remnants of his sandwich, reaching an emotional peak that he is unlikely to surpass ever again. He then placed the napkin, the paper bag and the tin foil wrapping into the appropriate waste receptacles, preparing to face the remaining 60 years of his life.
“That was a really great sandwich,” said Abelman.
