The Sandwich Perfectionist (A True Story)

Security Officer Bryan Holland’s stomach was rumbling by the time he made it to “Subway” during his lunch break. He chose “Subway” not because it was the tastiest of all the options to choose from in the food court, but rather, because it was the one store that had the least amount of people in the line. Bryan got in behind a woman in her mid fifties, wearing what seemed to be a powersuit consisting of all J.C. Penny’s. Bryan figured ‘well, if there’s one person in this line, I can be in the office eating with at least twenty minutes to spare’; little did Bryan know that this was not exactly going to happen.

“No no no… You did it wrong, again…. I want you to cut it open with finesse, not vigor. I thought you knew how to design a proper sandwich.” She yells at the Subway man as if he had just done something wrong. At first Bryan thought she was being funny but after a quick look at the Subway employee’s face, he realized that she was being dead serious. She spends time teaching him exactly how she wanted the bread cut which of course, wastes Bryan’s time.

“Alright, now, don’t just put the meat in there, I want you to fan it out, respectfully. It has to be done respectfully. Make sure to start with the Mayo first because I need it to be laid out properly along the bread…”

At this point, Bryan’s looking at her with wide eyed disbelief. Luckily she hadn’t noticed that he even existed.

“No, no, NO!… Not in a zig-zag pattern. Swirl it like the letter S and repeat from one end to the other, SMARTLY!” She says. “Get me another loaf of your finest… We’re going to do this again.”

At this point, the guy behind the counter looks at Bryan since he’s wearing the security uniform. Bryan looks over to the woman and finally, she looks at him and then eyeballs him up and down, as if to size him up. She makes a ‘pssh’ sound and looks back to the man behind the counter.

“Well, are you going to wait there all day? Or do I need to go somewhere else?” She asks rhetorically to her slave. “… and remember… Lay it down respectfully and cut it right. No zig-zag, I want the swirl, and when you’re done, lawyer the the cheese at roughly a five degree angle. Provolone has to be laid this way or else it doesn’t taste proper and you need to be proper. Do it smartly!”

Bryan forgot that his jaw had dropped a moment because at this point, three customers have piled in behind him and laughed at his reaction. He watches as the ‘sandwich-artist-micromanager’ sticks her finger on the glass and taps it so hard that, you’d think there was a special tap sale going on at tap city — BUY ONE TAP, GET ONE TAP FREE! It was that violent…

“Do you even know what five degree’s is?! CHOP CHOP!”

“Excuse me,” Bryan finally cut in. “There’s a line.”
“Sorry… I just need to make sure this is done right.”
“He knows how to do his job!”

She turns her head and motions the man behind the counter to move the sub over and start putting other things on it. She points to some sort of seasoning and snaps her fingers instead of actually asking for it.

“Pepper it… Don’t dash it… Pepper — I need it done…”
“Excuse me…”
“Excuse — MEEE!” She yells at me suddenly. “I’m paying this man for a service and I’m getting it done right.”

Bryan looks at his watch… It’s cutting into his meal time. She turns back to the man behind the counter.

“No… No that’s a dash… Pepper it… I want to see flare… There must be flare or else you won’t be getting my money.”

“Aren’t you going to do something?” Asks the customer behind Bryan . Bryan turns to the girl behind him and shakes his head.

“Like what? Detain her for demanding a smartly done pepper rather than a disrespectful dash on a designer $8.99 Sandwich? The nerve…”

That got a few chuckles from everyone behind Bryan and the woman in front of him finally shut the hell up and sped up the process on her precious sandwich.

Lunch break was officially the hardest part of the day.

Too Much Marketing, Too Little Imagination

With many writing groups on the internet, we find people writing about things that get us all riled up with “what is a real writer”, “how should we define ourselves”, “what publishing route we should use”. If we are lucky, we have threads that start us on projects, and groups that promote the actual writing of fiction. Most of the time, however, all we’re going to find is a bunch of people standing around talking about how we’re going to sell it rather than fun and interesting ways we’re going to create it. 

This may have a lot to do with why I don’t sell much. I’m just having too much fun writing content than I am worrying about how I’m going to market it. Marketing is all well and good, but, we’re missing the foundation most of the time. We’re spending too much time worrying about what type of writers we are, arguing about what a “real” writer is, and bragging about who’s paying their rent with their writing than we ever do actually developing our skills as a writer.

Sure, I see it sometimes, in writing groups; on a good day. Most of the time, however, I see this place like my local mall when it comes to variety; closing down one store to put in another clothing store, across from the clothing store, which happens to be between two clothing stores. What I see here is post after post of marketing strategy, judgement over how we define ourselves (What does it mean to be a “Writer” or “Author) and other people (endless arguments over whether we should call Jack a “Writer” or an “Author”) when we’re missing out on the fun of writing.

I feel this place needs more topics related to sentence structure, plot ideas, ways to make characters believable, and world-building.

These online writing groups remind me of a bunch of divers, floating on the surface of the ocean, talking about how to monetize their diving and forgetting that they need to do that back flip and actually get into the water. They’re all for talking about what tanks to get, but rarely ever talk about ways to regulate their breathing, or methods to clear the mask to make the experience of diving more fun to begin with, but they sure will be willing to direct you to the best wet-suit dealer, or express their opinions on what type of a diver you are, without having ever really dived in with you.


Tales of a Security Officer – Volume One

Tales of a Security Officer

Volume One:

“Scroteblender Esquire”

So I’m dealing with this drunk dude and he calls me a:
“Sh*t Gargling Astrofu*k from Planet 9”
And a
“Rowing D**kcanoe — smothering ballsack Testikiller t*tsmacker extraordinaire.”
followed by:
“Officer D***face Scroteblender Esquire.”
followed by a several other ways to put curse words together that I wish could have remembered. lol. Drunk people are fun!


“I’m Way More Dangerous”


This guy’s hitting on his girlfriend; and by hitting on, I don’t mean in the romantic sense. I pull up to them and tell the dude to let go of her. He pushes her in my direction. I ask her if she parked her car on property. She didn’t but it was nearby in the other plaza. I told her to go on, and go home.
“You ain’t no cop!” The guy says. “You aint’ do nuthin to me, you little b*tch… You ain’t no cop!”

“You’re right!” I yell at him and smile happily. “I’m not a cop. I’m not supervised, and I have nobody else to see what happens here. Do you think that makes me less dangerous, or MORE DANGEROUS?!”

I got to see who the real “B*tch” was, because he ran off like the one that he is.


“Fun With Grammar”


Thank goodness I know what “Mandatory” means; good to know I don’t have to attend just as long as I understand the definition.



“Not Getting Their Argument”


I’m in line at a gas station to get some Nuke’able soup for my lunch break later in my shift and this guy in front of me is absolutely livid. When I mean angry, I’m talking about, having enough angry energy that, if FPL could plug a cable up this guys ass, he’d be able to light up Fort Myers for a night straight; anyway, it gets worse. The reason why he is angry, it turns out, is because some other Security Officer at some other site, and some other company, told him that he couldn’t park his big-rig 18 Wheeler behind the property of the store he’s delivering to.

“And this ****ing rent-a-cop is going to make me have to pay eighty dollars for a ****amn hotel at ten-thrity in the ***ing night.” He turns around and see’s me after complaining to the clerk and points at me…

“It’s people like you who **** up America and the hard work of us truckers. Do you want my opinion?” Of course he doesn’t really ask, he’s going to tell me anyway; meanwhile, I’m counting down the minutes before I’m going to be late for work. “… You dumbass rent-a-cop’s are a bunch of pansy-ass’ed pu**ies that couldn’t cut it as a REAL COP and you’re holding onto every excuse to act like a big man! What’ya say to that?!”

So I take a deep breath and shrug my shoulders,
“You know something sir…” I smile and nod my head, “You are absolutely right. We are a bunch of pansy-ass’ed flashlight cops with nothing better to do than ruin your day. NO NO… Not going to argue with you. I live, and breathe just to enforce whatever I can because of everything you just said to me and on behalf of all security officers everywhere, I apologize.”

The guy just stopped for a second and then yelled at me after the initial shock.

“You don’t understand what I’m sayin’t’ya!”
“Oh I do… And you’re right! Every bit of it sir! I can’t argue with you!” Really, I couldn’t because I was running out of time but I just stayed on his side the entire time because I didn’t have time for any of his BS. “You do you… In fact, drop the gloves and tell me how you REALLY feel!” I say while nodding.

At this point the teller is reaching out for my stuff so he can ring it up while the boozed-up redneck starts losing his sh*t.

“Yer’ fu*ing with me! You ain’t gonna argue with me!”
“What do I have to argue against? I’m with you! All the way! You’re right, those bastards just don’t know what to do with themselves… All of us owe you an apology… What a bunch of jerks we are, sir… Ruining your night like that!”

The trucker yells a few obscenities and blasts out the door of the 7-11. Meanwhile, I’m thinking… WHEN THE HELL IS THE WORLD GOING TO GO BACK TO THE WAY IT WAS LAST WEEK?! YOU KNOW… NORMAL?


“Security Vs. Security”


I have my hands in my pockets because it’s freaking cold. I notice this guy with a few items in his hands a few aisles away tailing me. I pretend like I’m oblivious to him and just peruse the gun magazines before walking over to the electronics section. This dude starts following me over there, too. Still, I pretend I don’t notice and I just go through the video games. Weird… So I walk around the aisle and then graze the back corners where the video camera’s don’t stretch, and run back to the car and grab my radio scanner. I want to see if the dude is loss-prevention or some thug trying to see when a good time would be to try and mug me. I come back into the store with my earpiece in and scan all the GMRS frequencies. Sure enough, it lands on Loss Prevention:

“Yeah, the white male came back in. He’s up to something. He had his hands in his pockets the whole time and he keeps skipping sections like he doesn’t know what he’s looking for.”

Oh joy… This was going to be fun.

I grab a buggy and start throwing in the red flags and leave it at the edge of the blind spot on the camera’s next to the bicycles:
Rubber Gloves
Zip Ties
Pad Lock
Bolt Cutters
Duct Tape

I then asked a representative where the ski masks were.

Mr. LP is pretending he doesn’t see me so I wait for him to look away after I turn my head directly at him just as I cover an End-Cap and I cross back through a special spot that I noticed had no camera’s at the opposite end opposite where I left the cart at blind spot #2.

“I think we need to call someone in on this. He’s got an interesting grocery list.”
“Yeah he was asking for a ski mask.”

Around the other end of the opposite blind spot I come, right behind the cart and behind the employee and the LP guy.

“It’s for you guys!” I yell while holding my I.D. up to them. “Hey, are you hiring? This job looks like fun!”

“That’s not funny…” The guy says.
“Nah, it’s funny.”
“No… It’s not. And you’re putting all this **** back.”
“It is and I will. Have a good night.”


“Shady u-haul truck”


03:45A.M. A U-Haul truck with a man inside is parked directly on the other side of the fence from a self storage facility. All the red flags are flown. I just sit at the stop sign 50 yards away and we have a contest of who moves first. I win. He starts driving toward my car, I put my brights on and ride around him. He stops, I stop. I keep the same distance at all times. He tries to approach me again, I drive around him and keep 50 yards at all times. He leaves property. “Sorry for creeping you out but once the red flags are flown, I take no chances. ”


“Not A Sidewalk”


Yesterday, someone tells me that there’s been an “Accident” at the water fountain. I show up, first officer on the scene to find a brand new red Ford Fiesta squeezed between the fountain and the concrete benches. I help an 85 year old woman out of the car and shut her engine off for her. I then ask, “So, how did this happen?”

“You guys need to make your roundabouts more wide!” She says.
“Excuse me miss, but — this is a sidewalk!”