Ramblings From an Apathetic Adult Baby

From Justin Gawel: Eccentric Dirtbag

Tag Archives: love

An Unacceptable Amount of Mayonnaise

This post originally appeared on Long Awkward Pause.   They’re a fun bunch who I contribute to sporadically and whose site is fun to peruse.



Dear Mr. James of the Family John,


I’ll drop the formalities, Jimmy John; I’m going to be frank. Yesterday I thought I ordered a sandwich, but upon unwrapping the culinary atrocity you’d delivered I found nothing except disappointment and confusion—much like a child tearing open a birthday present only to find this year’s edition of Quicken. What I received was no sandwich; it was more akin to a small raft of bread floating atop a congealed caloric ocean on its voyage to Type II diabetes.


My appetite was gone, but not satiated.


The ratio was revolting. The term sandwich was inaccurate. Sandwich implies some bit of structural integrity when, in fact, this was just a coagulated mass. Out of context I’d have surmised it was industrial cafeteria waste or an interactive art project gone awry. Jimmy John, I wanted lunch not poor man’s potato salad, my non-mayonnaise toppings suspended within the gob like casualties in Attack of the Blob.


I immediately threw it out, needless to say. It’s now feeding the dumpster rats that lack self-control.


My cubicle’s carpet, though, will never regain its innocence.


I fear I’m being unfairly stereotyped, Jimmy John. I know I live in the Midwest. I know I’m part of the demographic that leads this nation in cheese-based restaurants and child heart attacks. I know we sell t-shirts that read “Flavor Country: We’ll Show Restraint When We’re Prematurely Dead.” But, Jimmy John, we’re not all Rascal-riding gluttons. Some of us view sandwiches as more than just vehicles to ingest mayonnaise.


Sure, freaky fast delivery is great, but not when it’s in such haste that your sandwich-slinging bigots are applying sweeping generalization to populations just to get orders out on schedule.


Prejudices like this are tough to stomach. Please, stop ascribing your narrow-minded beliefs about me based off my location and neighbors’ waistlines. Get to know me for who I am: a customer who experiences white-hot rage whenever he’s delivered a meal that’s drowning in white, room-temperature goo.


I have a dream that my children can someday live in a world where mayonnaise always comes on the side. Yes, I know it’d be more expensive and would render your company’s vats and masonry trowels useless, but it is a compromise. Your stereotyping sandwich servants could remain and continue to pigeonhole customers to their blackened hearts’ content, yet, by only giving packets, they’d never again be able to ruin a lunch through over-mayonnaise-ing!


Be a leader who looks out for people. This country needs a sandwich king, not a sandwich Führer.



Marginalized as Another Midwesterner,

Justin Gawel




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Where Does the Time Go: I’m Terribly Sorry

What’s the old expression, if ifs and sluts were candy and butts than every day would be Christmas? Teach a man to fish and he’ll go fishing instead of writing? Excuses are like buttholes: everyone has them because that’s how they poop?


Clearly, I’ve never been much for remembering exact words and phrases and, lately, I haven’t been much for writing them on here into ramblings about gravy troughs, freelance animal control adventures, or dinner party hijinx.  For my hiatus I do want to apologize; I gave no explanation for my unplanned, WordPress sabbatical and I hope that, despite my absence, you’ll continue to read my stuff going forward.


I thought I could make time for both, but over the last six weeks I was sucked down the rabbit hole of working on a novella.


Yes, at this point, I’ve finished the first draft of the short novel and have sent it out to a few friends to get notes so I can continue to make edits.  Anyways, I’ll be sure to keep everyone posted as it progresses and I’ll likely end up posting snippets or some random chapters of it on here to see what people on WordPress think. Overall, it’s not an especially long story, just under forty-thousand words; it would probably take the average person about two or three hours to read it, although for the average illiterate, feral wolf child it would probably take slightly longer.


Bottom line, I’ll be trying to get back in the swing of posting every week or two on here in the not-too-distant future and thank you guys for continuing to come around.




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