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There was one empty stool at the long counter in a small restaurant. Climbing it, I looked over the whole place. There were a few tables occupied by customers, dispatching their dishes, a cashier's desk in the middle of the room, a huge black board on the wall in front of me filled up with white letters and two white dressed cooks behind the counter, bustling and preparing meals for the next hungry guests. I was hungry and I wanted to fill up my stomach with something hot.
Entering the restaurant, I knew what I was going to have, but looking at the blackboard, I couldn't find anything that would have convinced me to make an order. First of all the prices on that board were beyond my means; I just came to America, looking for the brighter future and I had to look twice at any penny I was going to spend. Secondly, all the dainties were wrapped in a shroud of mystery by strange sounded names of dishes; just one white mass of letters and words that didn't "speak" to me at all.
"May I help you?" a "white apron" roused me from my meditations.
"Errr... one moment, please, I have not decided yet," I tried to cover up my confusion, feeling that I flushed up to the ears. "What shall I do?" I asked myself feverishly. The simple thing like as ordering something to eat turned out to be a serious obstacle. I knew that I was going to have an egg fried on a pan and potatoes cut in strips and fried in oil. I also knew a Polish name of that dish, but when I tried to translate it into English it sounded stupid. "Sitting egg!," I laughed to myself. Who will understand if I ask for a "sitting egg?" Besides I didn't noticed any "sitting" dishes in the menu.
Casting a furtive glance at the plate in front of a person next to me, I heaved a sigh of relief; he had been digging his fork into a meal that I had dreamed of.
"The same, please." I pointed my finger to the neighbor's plate, answering the questioning look of the "white apron." While he went to prepare a dish for me, I shyly touched an arm of my neighbor.
"Excuse me, could you tell me the name of the meal you are eating?"
"Egg sunny-side up and French fries."
"Oh, thank you. I am sorry to disturb you."
"You're welcome."
Another day I went to the store to buy something for my breakfast. Strolling between the shelves full of goods, I couldn't make my mind up what to put into the shopping basket. There were too many things to look at and too many temptations. At last I stopped at the refrigerator filled up with various kinds of cold cuts. I was a wonderful view. The picture that I hadn't seen for at least ten years; the economic situation in my country was so difficult that all this "stuff" had disappeared not only from the store's shelves, but also from the papers, magazines and TV. And I already knew what I wanted for my breakfast.
"What can I do for you?" The shop attendant asked.
"I'd like to make a sandwich for my breakfast. So could you give me a piece of ham and cheese, please."
"I can make a sandwich for you. What would you like: bread. a roll, a hero?"
"Well, I didn't expect such kind help."
"This is bread, roll, hero," he had been showing me different kinds from the batch.
"Well, if you are so kind, please give me a hero." I made up my mind, thinking about "hero." Why was it called "hero?" Because it endured the higher temperature in the oven? Because it was bigger than the other products?
"Butter or mayonnaise?" a sandwich man disrupted my thoughts.
"Butter, please."
"Sweet or salted?"
"Sweet, please."
"On one side or both?"
"Both, please."
"How would you like your ham, thin or thick?"
"Thin, please."
"And cheese?"
"Thin, please."
"What's going on here?" I asked myself, looking around to check whether there are any other customers waiting to be served. What a big deal: a sandwich? I could have prepared it by myself without all those questions. How long would have been this line if he had to ask each person for such a great deal of details? That's why, probably, there was nobody behind my back.
The "hero" was wrapped in a piece of white paper, thrown into a white bag and covered with a few white napkins.
"$ 3.60 all together," a polite smile appeared on a deli man's face.
The "hero" was expensive, but when I got home and took it out of the bag, I found out why. It wasn't a sandwich! It was THE SANDWICH! Looking at the amount of ham and cheese squeezed by the two halves of my "hero", I decided to change its "appearance" a little, by preparing it my way. The way I used to eat; one slice of ham and one slice of cheese on top.
Enjoy your meal!
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