The Turkey Murderer

Remember I said in an earlier blog post that America is a complicated country?  Well, it certainly is...part of the reason is because it is populated by complicated people.  I count myself among those complicated people, and I doubt there are many people who know me that would disagree (complicated might be the nicest thing they say actually).  Well, today, I got just a bit more complicated.

After finishing a deposition today, I walked over to a local establishment to pick up a sandwich.  I noticed, actually heard, a guy on the street essentially saying that he was hungry and asking for some help.  I was about to walk right by him and head into the store for lunch (remember, this is the City of Philadelphia...you can't walk a block without at least one or two panhandlers on the way).  Then something caught my attention.  The guy was not your normal street-dweller.  He looked relatively clean, he had on some decent clothes.  He was relatively quiet and unobtrusive, and if someone answered his call for help "no," he said thank you anyway.  Frankly, he looked like a guy who might have been employed a week ago, and had things go south in a hurry.

I digress...I walked into the store and bought myself a sandwich...a #16 - turkey, cheese and other cool works.  Then I decided I would buy him a sandwich too - ham and cheese, no fixings.  Of course, I handed him my sandwich by accident, but that's okay.  He looked more surprised than anything, and said thank you.  I didn't really make small talk; he said he was hungry, and, hopefully, I had solved that problem.

The story really doesn't begin until here.  One of my co-workers asked me why I bought him a sandwich different than the one I ordered for myself.  I told the truth - I didn't know what the guy liked or didn't like, or what he might be allergic to or not allergic to, so I got something simple.  My other co-worker summed that up best: "here's a hungry guy who probably hasn't eaten in a month, and you are worried about what he is or isn't allergic to!!"  She then called me the turkey murderer. 

Now knowing that I gave him the wrong sandwich, I am petrified that I killed this hungry guy out on the street with my turkey sandwich.  Maybe, though, he was really allergic to ham, and I saved him by giving him the wrong sandwich!?!?

Ah, such is the life of the turkey murderer.