“Can I help you, gentleman,” the small intense woman asked as she stepped behind the counter of the sandwich shop. Now she had many metal containers of sandwich fixings, a clear spit guard and about 3 feet separating her and the two very formally dressed young men.
The taller young man said something in a soft tone. It was then that I realized how loudly the woman behind the counter was speaking. From the table where I sat, 20 feet away, I could not hear what he had to say, but her words were quite clear over the hiss and hum of traffic on the wet road outside.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you, I watched my mother die a long, excruciating death because she would not go to a doctor, because she believed in that crap,” the woman responded, in a firm but calm voice. “But would you like a sandwich.”
The young men sheepishly shook their heads and said something else I could not hear from my seat by the door. The two well dressed young men hurried past heads down, n0 doubt wishing they could move faster out into the wet wind of a inhospitable winter day.