Best. Sandwiches. Ever.
Ones and zeros. The building blocks of information. Just outside of Alexandria Virginia, a young woman who goes by the name, Rose, is broadcasting her image to the web. The image travels in all directions at lightning speeds. Her likeness is transferred to thousands of people’s devices in the form of ones and zeros, where the information is then decoded and reshaped into an image pleasing to the eye. Her long red hair, equally red lips, and big, bright eyes are transmitted through space and into her fan’s palms. The same process is used to send countless images, videos and other information across the globe. Rose prefers to use this technology to send selfies and pics of her food to her adoring fans. One of those fans is in her apartment building. Online, he is known as @BootyBlaster69, but in the real world, his name is Tad. Although Rose and Tad have never bumped into one another, they’ve had plenty of interaction over Twitter. Tad is hoping to meet Rose today. She posted on Twitter about meeting a friend in DC for brunch later.
“OMG! So excited for brunch with @KatieTeamEdward today,” she posted. Followed by ‘#CherubimCafé’ and ‘#BestSandwiches'”
Tad invited his brother, Geoff to join him as his wing man.
He was probably already here, but I better give him a call,” Tad thought.
“I bet it’s busier than a coffee house toilet.” Tad said aloud and laughed. “I’m gonna tweet that.”
Pulling out his enormous iPhone 9 Plus, he dialed his slightly older, slightly more punctual twin brother’s number. 867-530… 8.
“Hey bro. It’s me. You there yet?”
“Yeah. One sec… Hall…Table for two, please. -OK, sorry. Just getting us on the list. It’s busier than a Starbucks shitter today.”
God damn it, Tad thought.
Upon ending the call, Tad hurried to his Twitter app to post what his brother said. In his rush, he bumped into a lady, almost knocking her down, but his focus was barely broken. He held his hand up as to motion that he was at fault, but an apology was not going to leave his lips this day. He didn’t even realize he was walking in the wrong direction, but he did notice one thing; a picture someone posted of a cluster of dots near Uranus. Apparently, these dots were huge asteroids headed toward earth, though predicted to miss us; they would pass close enough to see in the sky with the naked eye. It seemed to be a huge deal. Tad didn’t notice, but a majority of the people around him were also studying their phones, absorbing all the information they could about the matter.
Kitty was flushed; she felt sweaty and hoped the Axe Body Spray that she used of her husband’s, because her deodorant ran out; would hold up. The first husband was already seated and was dressed stylishly as ever with his pink ascot.
I wonder if I could get Yukon to wear a pink ascot, she thought.
“Mr. Cage it’s so nice of you to agree to an interview.”
“Please, no need to be so formal, just call me Mick or the nickname the press gave me, the Cage-Baconator.”
Kitty laughed, but it came out sounding kind of forced. She sat down and laid her cell phone on the table. It was blowing up with updates from her social media accounts. She ignored them; she wanted to let Mick know he had her full attention.
“I’ve already picked out what I want. Do you need time to go over the menu?” He asked.
“No, I’m come here often with my husband, so I’m going to get my usual sweet potato burrito.”
The waiter came over to take their drink order.
“I’ll have water with lemon,” Kitty said.
“Do you have any peach schnapps?” Mick asked.
“I’m sorry sir, but we don’t serve alcohol.”
Mick narrowed his eyes. “I think you do.”
The waiter looked at Kitty for help. Kitty avoided making eye contact with him.
“I’m really sorry sir, but we don’t serve alcohol.”
“I think you do.”
The waiter, who didn’t look anymore than a day over 21, did not have any experience with what to do, when the husband of the president of the United States was demanding alcohol when the cafe you worked for didn’t even have a liquor license.
“I’ll talk to the manager and see what I can do. Meanwhile, may I get your food order?”
“I’ll have the sweet potato burrito,” Kitty said.
“I’ll have a spanikopita, with no salt and fresh dill,” Mick said.
The waiter was in disbelief. They didn’t have spanakopita or any other Greek food. He thought the first husband was actually pulling his leg, but the look on his face said he was deadly serious. He didn’t want to go through the whole, “We don’t have that; I think you do,” scenario again though.
“I’ll talk to the chef.”
Kitty, who was a professional, didn’t even flinch; she held together the plastered grin on her face that she used for interviews.
“I wanted to start with–”
Mick cut her off. “I wanted to lay out a few ground rules first. The first is that I don’t want to be misquoted. The reason I chose you, is because I love your interviews and I think they are straight forward and without embellishment, so I’ll trust you to do the same with me. My only other stipulation is that you don’t ask me anything too personal, needless to say my sex life is off the table. My husband is president of the United States and I don’t need to remind you what happened to Jimmy Hoffa.”
Kitty wasn’t aware that anyone knew what happened to Jimmy Hoffa or what the President had to do with his disappearance. What happened to Jimmy Hoffa, could be something that was told to every sitting president on their first day in office for all she knew.
“Yes, of course. I will quote you directly and I will certainly respect your privacy,” she said with her usual grace and charm.
The waiter who was now debating his life choices was running across the street to the, Blue Oyster Bar.
He entered the crowded bar and noticed the usual song, El Bimbo was not playing and no one was dancing. (Please listen and enjoy the song anyway, El Bimbo by Bimbo Jet https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFifyV6vfBw ) He went over to the bartender and ordered the peach schnapps. The bar was crowded with the usual Men at Work types. The waiter whose name is unknown to us at this time, looked around to see if anyone was watching. His plan was to very nonchalantly walk out the door with the drink, without drawing any attention to himself. He was in luck, because everyone seemed to be engrossed with whatever they were reading on their phones. He started to walk toward the door and bumped into a man who looked exactly like Shipwreck from GI Joe. He even had a parrot on his shoulder. He spilled a little of the peach schnapps on his shirt. The waiter thought he was about to get punched, but unbelievably Shipwreck didn’t even look up from his phone.
I could walk out of here with all the money in the register and no one would even notice, he thought.
The waiter leaves out the door with the drink and walks across the street, careful not to spill anymore. He picks up the glass of water with lemon for Kitty and heads to their table.
The first husband was sitting with his back straight and legs crossed; he looked like a woman from the 1950’s who had gone to a “finishing school” to learn proper etiquette.
“Here’s a glass of water with lemon for you Kitty and peach schnapps for the gentleman.”
Mick looked at the waiter as if he didn’t know who he was and why was bringing him this beverage.
“Oh yes, I’ve changed my mind; I will have a water with lemon also.”
The waiter sighed and collected the drink. He walked back to the kitchen and gulped it down. He decided he would need some alcohol in his system in order to get through this meal.
“Do you mind if I use my laptop to take a few notes?” Kitty asked.
The first husband didn’t respond he just waved his hand.
“Where did you and the President first meet?”
“Well, this was before I was a famous action movie star. I started out in low budget porn and we met on the set of the movie I was shooting, Evil Head II.
For once, Kitty was not able to hold her smile; she wrinkled her brow, unsure of how to proceed.
I thought he didn’t want to talk about his sex life.
The owner, Lorenzo Abbatantuono, called Lorenzo’s Oil by his friends interrupted their conversation. For Kitty, it was a welcome interruption.
“Please, you must come and look at the TV now, hey.” Lorenzo had an Italian accent and always ended his sentences with, “hey.”
“You want us to look at the TV?” Kitty asked.
“I’m right in the middle of giving an interview. I haven’t even told her about the other films, The Sexorcist and Good Will Humping.
“Please, you must come and look at the TV now, hey.”
Kitty and Mick followed Lorenzo through the kitchen to see the TV. What they saw was the most amazing thing ever.
Deep in the bowels of the White House, President Bacon had just wrapped up introductions in the Situation Room. General Usrodd and a handful of other military leaders, are peppered amongst a few characters in dark suits and sensing the general’s uneasiness, the President immediately addressed him.
“General, you look like you’re four turns deep into a game of Russian roulette. What’s eating you? Is American Idol returning?”
“Sir, I’m sure you’ve read this morning’s reports?”
“Sir, we have an urgent update.”
“The debris cluster by Uranus this morning–”
“–HOW DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THAT?!” Evan yelled out, chuckling on the inside.
General Usrodd, unaffected by humor on a good day replied, “…is moving faster than initially reported. Sir, it’s going to be closer than predicted.”
“General, since you’re the one presenting this information to me, I’m assuming we’re going to have to implement some drastic measures?”
“You’d be correct, Sir.”
“How fast are these things moving?”
“Mr. President,” the General paused… “They’re approaching Mars now.”
A wave of seriousness overcame Evan. “Mars?” He asked in disbelief.
“Yes, Mr. President. Mars.”
“Oh god dammit.”
“Yes Sir. They’ll reach our atmosphere in a few hours.”
“Mr President, we’ve never seen anything like it,” one of suits interjects. “My colleagues and I at NASA believe this cluster was slingshotted around a black hole. It’s the only way to account for their speed. It’s a rather large cluster, Sir. We believe they’re about the width of our moon. If they hit us, we’re talking extinction level event.”
“Oh… God dammit…”
Evan took a moment to think. He ran his fingers through his hair, resting his hands on the back of his head. He studied Randy, the NASA suit, with his short, orange hair, huge glasses and lady voice, whom he would’ve torn to shreds if the situation weren’t so dire.
“I almost would’ve preferred to have American Idol back,” he quipped.
Nobody found it amusing.
I’m gonna die with these stiffs, he thought.
Pointing randomly into the group of suits littering the room, Evan made his first command.
“We can’t keep quiet about this. We may spark a panic, but if these things miss us and it gets out that we kept this from the public, my presidency will reach extinction level. None of you want me in your ass if that happens. Take that literally or figuratively. We need to set up an emergency news conference. This happens now and for the love of Zeus, someone fetch my husband. He’s at the Cherubim Cafe giving an interview. I need him here, so I have one less thing to worry about. Retrieve him quietly and get me a Reuben… That place has the best sandwiches.”