99 Choices

There's a deli not far from where I work that has an assortment of 99 sandwiches, all named for local businesses, attractions, and landmarks. There are two different roll sizes, as well as a wrap option. It pretty much exceeds all other local sandwich options.

I've never been good at making choices or trying new things. If something isn't broke, why fix it? If something or someplace is safe and familiar, it will never change, right? Friends and family often find it a challenge getting me to break out of my boundaries with even the most minute and mundane practices. I picked one flavor I liked at Coldstone when that place first opened, and ordered the same thing every time until some friends suggested I try a new flavor each time. That was some Summer! Trying new things isn't bad, yet every time I consider ordering a different drink in Starbucks, the words “Grande Mocha Frappuchino” still come out automatically. Maybe it's just because it's too hard to learn how to say any of the other beverages. Somehow, I haven't set foot in a Starbucks in over two months, so I may forget how to order my drink.

I decided the first time I visited this new deli that I would take the same approach I did with Coldstone. Each time, I would order something different from the menu, until eventually I'd tried everything once. It was a solid plan, with no real order to it. I suppose I should have developed a system, perhaps going down the list numerically, or odd numbers then even numbers, or something I could keep track of. With 99 choices, sooner or later I'd inadvertently repeat myself.

Wednesday afternoon, I found myself dwarfed by the board once more, motioning people to go ahead of me while I made up my mind. I think the pressure of standing in line is another reason I get the same thing all the time in fast food places; I don't want to hold everyone else up. I can feel when eyes are on my back. 99 choices exceed fast food options vastly, and I kept changing my mind. Did I want #56? #40 looked good. Perhaps 23, sans onions of course? I vacillated for an eternity.

Finally I saw one that stood out against the rest. #34. Chicken cutlets. Melted Jack Cheese. Salsa. Salsa! I would drape myself in Salsa if it were socially acceptable. Actually, I'm just playing off an old Costanza reference. Even I'm not that disgusting, at least not yet. I knew what I had to do, in any case. I got a 34 on a wrap.

I pulled up a chair, carefully unwrapping my new experience. Steam rose from the halves, my eyes and mouth watering equally. I savored the heat and the aroma, opened my mouth and sunk my teeth in. The soft wrap yielded before my eager teeth, the cutlets offering a bit more resistance. I completed my bite as I reached the salsa and cheese layer, strands of melted cheese taking hold. It was beautiful, it was delicious, and it was absolutely familiar.

“I think I got this last time.” My friend thought I'd gotten a different sandwich, but the one he mentioned was the first one I tried. Again, with 99 choices, I'm bound to forget. I just didn't think it would happen on my third visit. I guess the item jumped off the board because my subconscious was drawn to it. The idea of “usuals” is so deeply ingrained in my psyche, that I don't even have to think about it. That's a little scary. Hopefully, it's just one of my idiosyncrasies that I can overcome or live with, and not a sign of memory deterioration that will only get worse. If I end up telling this same tale in a week or so, let me know.