“Mr. Health Nut” by Holly Sheidenberger
I hate people.
Not all. Just the ones I meet.
Precisely sixteen minutes exist between now and the fortune-making, business-breaking deal going down in the conference room with a crucial high-priority client. According to my boss.
And this jerk in line has already wasted four of those minutes trying to order a simple sandwich.
“Can I get that without kale? Or onions. Or garlic if you use it. And please leave off the carrot strips, that seems rather unusual on a san–“
I’ve had enough.
“Hey, give Mr. Health Nut here an egg salad on white since he’s apparently allergic to vegetables,” I yell at the cashier.
“To go. Stop wasting everyone’s time, Asshole.”
There’s barely time to inhale my banh mi pita and hustle straight to the conference room.
Everyone is already shaking hands with the client.
It’s Mr. Health Nut, a telltale speck of egg salad on his lapel.
Shit.