I have ultimately decided that Europa does not actually make food. That somehow they have food in the store but not really. I can only presume it is magic. I will elaborate.
At my lovely little job I have the privilege of running down to Europa to fetch my boss’s lunch. Every. Day. Now, I am not complaining because this gives me ample time to decide what I would like to eat when it is my turn. My turn comes around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. My boss eats around 11 in the morning. The difference in time is highly important. Note it.
11 and 12 o’clockers get a variety of food to choose from. The world is their buffet. Literally. Well at least Europe is, hence the name. They can choose from soups, salads, and my favorite, a huge selection of presscattas, which is like a Panini only round. So everyday I am wowed by this feast of men and find myself taken in by the wonders of the smells and the wonders of the wonder! I get Boss’s lunch and head back upstairs.
“I know exactly what I’m gonna get. It is gonna be delicious in my belly. It will be Awesome! Chicken Fajita Presscatta I will dominate you!”
So I go back up to my desk and I wait patiently for another three hours to pass so that I am able to run down ever so cheerfully and fulfill the dire need I have acquired for this one item. I wait……I wait……..I wait. Finally! 2 o’clock rolls around I shoot my customary e-mail saying I’m running out to lunch and like a flash, I’m out of there! I punch anyone in my way and I cut the line. When I finally get to the selection case not only do they not have my Chicken Fajita Presscatta, they have nothing. NOTHING!
But the worse of it is, since I have built up the desire to consume the one thing that can quench my thirst for food I tend to not go down without a fight. I begin with staring at the case for a long period of time. Willing the presscatta to come out of hiding. When that fails I start staring at the workers willing them to make me a fresh presscatta. When that ultimately fails and I can’t continue to make eye contact, I start searching frantically for the next best thing. But that’s just it, there is no next best thing. I go to the pasta section,
“Linguini please.”
“We have no linguini” (Italian accent, not being stereotypical, Luis has an Italian accent)
I run over to the sandwich bar,
“Italian sandwich with salami, please.”
“We are saving that for the person behind you. And there is no more.”
I run over to the salad bar
“Don’t bother, no more lettuce today!”
They don’t have food there. I am 100% sure that when the food runs out they just close the doors. But people keep filing in, me included. They hang around as if some magic is going to happen, the same magic that made the food appear in the first place will take place again. We are hopers and dreamers, my friends. Hopers and dreamers.
Then it’s spotted… the crumb at the back of the case. You may say to yourself, I would just walk somewhere else (there’s actually another Europa a couple streets away) but not my comrades and I. Oh No! That crumb is our salvation. We do not look down upon it for being so small, no. We eagerly and humbly ask how much do they want for the crumb in the back of the case? They tell us it is not for sell. Bitches.
Europa does not make food, not even crumbs. And I wholeheartedly believe that the 11 and 12 o’clockers don’t know how lucky they truly are and the magic they behold every day. Every slurp of a noodle, every crunch of a piece of lettuce, every cheese string pulled from a Chicken Fajita Presscatta, every crumb they nonchalantly discard. That is my heaven, that is my Olympus , that is my everything.
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