The other day I went into an eatery near my work to buy some lunch. "My good lady, would you be so kind as to make me a cheese and tomato sandwich? And please, make haste for I must return to our Lordship," is what I would have said if I were living in 1792 in England somewhere. Instead, I said "Can I please have a cheese and tomato toasted sandwich? The good lady obliged me, and started making my lunch as I checked the time on my LG (life's good) phone.
And then it happened. I witnessed the unimaginable. I can't help but recoil in horror as I think back on it now. It was the moment that changed everything and separated the germophobes from the germophiles.
She. Sneezed. She SNEEZED. And she continued on as if nothing had happened piling the cheese and tomato on that lovely wholegrain bread before closing it shut with the second slice and sealing in the particles of moist nasal discharge that I was certain had landed there.
Too embarrassed to say anything and offend the woman that I would never see again, I paid, took the sandwich and left. But did I eat it? Hell no!