Flub Sandwich

Spend a summer day on a beach on either coast and you’re apt to come across a sand-sculpting contest. Inevitably, someone will be crafting a sandcastle or some form of sandanimal. Not my style. Too predictable. Too trite. If I were a contestant, I’d create a granulated-rocks version of Samantha Stephens. Or Hermione Granger. Or one of the Charmed sisters. Or Glinda. Or Glinda’s green-skinned counterpart — the one with a legion of flying primates at her disposal. My masterpiece, upon completion, would blow away the judges. My sedimentary sculpture would be a sentimental favorite. Soon, judges and beachgoers would be hungering for more of my tasty sandwitches.

Sandwitches exist, if only on beaches. So too, of course, do sandwiches, which are a lunch staple. (The term sandwich traces its roots back to 18th-century Englishman John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich.) But sandwhiches? Hmm…

Photo courtesy of Kime Buzzelli

My friend Lindsay, of IAMNOTASTALKER, brought this image to my attention, and it provided food for thought. Kime Buzzelli, a costume designer for the TV show 90210, posted the picture on Instagram after seeing the sign in a Subway window in Yucca Valley, California. (Buzzelli is an artist who has exhibited her paintings in galleries across the country and in Tokyo. You can visit her official website here.)

The artisan who attempted to make sandwiches failed miserably. Why did the writer sandwich an h between the w and the i in that $5 footlong?

The sign has been which doctored, and the only remedy is to knock out the sixth letter of the penultimate word — with a knuckle sandwich, naturally. If I have my say, that h is toast, notwithstanding certain small-appliance inoperability.

FebruANY® way you slice it, Subway, it’s sandwich. SANDWICH! I’m sorry, but using all caps is how, in writing (and without wafer-ing), I scream sandwich.