So I was driving back from Oswego today, and trying to cram down lunch to save time. I opened up the sub half that Shawna gave me from her lunch yesterday–I should have known it would be a bad idea when I saw the oozing grease leaking through the wrapper last night.  This morning I just wrapped it in a sandwich bag and figured it would be okay.  Letting it sit on the seat of my car for 5 hours today did not add to its palatability.

I attempted to unwrap it as I was pulling out of the gas station, and found that most of the filling had oozed to the cut end, and miscellaneous toppings were trying to escape the accursed sandwich.  I had to pull over at a driveway about a quarter of a mile later because I was having morbid thoughts of, “What happens if I get into an accident because of this sandwich?”

I found that I had no napkins in my car, so while swearing, I attempted to rearrange the oozing chicken salad, tomatoes, olives, pickles, onions, hot peppers, and god knows what else into something that resembled a sub.  I couldn’t even touch the wrapper without soiling myself, and smears of chicken salad ended up all over the steering wheel.  I figured I had done as well as I could, so I pulled out of the driveway with the hellbound sandwich in my left hand.  I couldn’t decide which needed more dexterity–driving or maneuvering the sandwich–so I switched hand.  In the meantime, olives and pickles fell onto my seat, leaving telltale grease stains on the fabric. 

Finally, after three or four bites, I gave up.  Then I found that I had rearranged the sub wrapping in such a way that I couldn’t even rewrap the sandwich and contain the mess.  I dug around the back seat–driving 65 on a 2-lane road, btw–and found a roll of paper towels.  I took one piece and wrapped up the leaking end of the sub as best I could, and laid it gingerly on the floor on the passenger side.  I made mental note not to make any abrupt evasive maneuvers while driving, lest I splatter the remainder of the cursed sandwich on the car. 

Stupid sandwich.