A non-native English speaker enters, holding a wrapped Chicken roll.
SPEAKER – Ya know, when I first moved here I thought everyone was a bit racist against me because I wasn’t Irish. Turns out, you were just annoyed that I was taking so long to order my bloody chicken roll.
Speaker places one hand over heart.
SPEAKER – I tell ya, I owe the lot of ye an apology. I mean I would’ve been out of the shop and done with my sandwich if it hadn’t been for Galway’s latest blow-in.
Speaker points with chicken roll back into shop.
SPEAKER – Not only did he jump the feckin’ queue (and we were all too bloody polite to say anything . . . well, except auld Mrs. Browne and that didn’t help matters) . . .
Speaker points chicken roll at audience.
SPEAKER – But as I was saying, there’s a special place in hell for queue-jumpers. I’m glad auld Mrs. Browne said something . . . but ultimately it just confused the eejit even more and dragged everything out far longer than it needed to be, so it did.
Speaker begins to pace slowly.
SPEAKER – I mean it’s a feckin’ chicken roll, not rocket science. Even I copped on after a bloody fortnight. But not this guy, not John. I’ve seen him around town since the start of the semester (three months ago, at least) and I know he’s a Yank from the Canadian flag on his backpack. (He’s not fooling anyone.) He’s too spoiled by too many choices to be able to make up his privileged little mind.
Speaker stops, looks down at the chicken roll.
SPEAKER – ’Tis simple enough, even if you didn’t know that you wanted a chicken roll until you got to the deli counter.
Speaker holds up one finger.
SPEAKER – Step One: butter or mayo. I know the choice is very tribal. It has divided families and doomed budding love affairs, but we’re all born with a preference and we should just all learn to get along. I’m a butter person myself, I love me some fresh Kerry Gold . . . but I don’t grill the employees about which brand of butter they’re using. Even margarine is better than that white gloopy shite. I’d rather have a dry chicken roll than the world’s best mayo . . . if there is such a thing. So why the feck would John pester the woman making his sandwich to show him the label on the massive jar of . . . She shouldn’t barred him right there.
Speaker holds up two fingers.
SPEAKER – Step Two: spicy or regular. It’s the simplest decision in the entire chicken roll ordering process. If ya have to ask how spicy the spicy chicken is . . . Look, either ya don’t like spicy things and so ya should stick with the plain. Or ya like things spicy and so the spicy bloody chicken is your only option. If ya don’t think it’ll be spicy enough for ya, ya got bloody salad options to supplement the mild spices. (Or should I say ’spice?’ It’s just bloody pepper. I swear you Irish are such light weights.) But for a minute there, I thought “John” was gonna ask for the Colonel’s secret recipe.
Speaker holds up three fingers and sighs.
SPEAKER – But the worst of it . . . the absolute, nearly wrecked my bleedin’ head in worse . . . was Step Three: salad choices. It wasn’t even the combo this monster ordered as much as the sheer quantity. The man had the ’Notions’ to request . . . no demand . . . five separate salads.
Speaker stomps back and forth on the stage.
SPEAKER – It’s just not me. Some shops will only do a maximum of three and I think even that is too much. Any more than two salads and the very structural integrity of the chicken roll is undermined.
Speaker pauses to take a deep breath.
SPEAKER – It started off bad enough when this lad ordered “pickles” right off the bat. He almost lost his shit when she put peppers on his chicken roll, but who can understand his stupid accent? Apparently this muppet has never heard the word “gherkin” and so ends up settling for both, peppers AND gherkins. And then . . . get this . . . he orders both tomatoes AND cucumbers! Not only does this fool already have “pickles” on his chicken roll, but he seems to be ordering every drippy, soggy salad in front of him.
Speaker leans into audience.
SPEAKER (under their breath) – I swear I thought he was taking the piss at this point and was going to order everything before storming off without paying for.
Speaker steps back and holds arms out wide.
SPEAKER – But then John did the unthinkable. Guess what the stupidest man in Galway . . . in all of Ireland . . . did next? How did he top off the sloppiest chicken roll, the chicken roll already too stuffed to shut? Lettuce!
Speaker shakes head slowly.
SPEAKER – ‘Tis the bulkiest of salads . . . and he wants it on top of everything else. I was so shocked I turned to the rest of the queue and shrugged. I should’ve gone all in and rolled my eyes. He’s lucky he didn’t get a chicken roll thrown in his face.
Speaker looks down at chicken roll, again.
SPEAKER – I was so flustered I barely got my order out: butter, spicy chicken, cheese, and jalapeños. I even forgot to ask for it to be cut in half.
Speaker holds chicken roll out to audience.
SPEAKER – But ya know what? The whole ordeal has ruined my appetite. Does anyone want this?
Speaker hands chicken roll to audience member and exits.