Hi — yes, hello there waitress. I’d like to order a clubhouse sandwich… or something adjacent to that, if possible. I assume you do know what a clubhouse is, but just in case, it’s the one with the layers — though not too many layers, because sometimes people get carried away and it becomes architectural rather than edible.

Anyway. White bread — unless your whole wheat is actually good, which it rarely is, but I’m open to being surprised. Toasted, obviously, but not aggressively toasted. I don’t want to feel like I’m chewing through a philosophy on texture.

Turkey - fresh, please. Not the kind that tastes like it’s been thinking about its life choices in a plastic bag. Bacon, but… crisp. Not burnt. There’s a difference, though I understand it’s subtle for some kitchens.

Lettuce and tomato are fine, assuming the tomato has seen sunlight at some point in its existence. If it’s one of those pale, watery discs, maybe just… don’t. Or do. I mean, I can always take it off myself I guess.

Mayo — light, but not so light that I have to wonder if it’s there. Actually, maybe on the side. No, wait... put a little on, and also some on the side. That way I retain control. I also want real mayo, not that goblin jizz known as 'Miracle Whip'.

Cut it into triangles. Or halves. Triangles are traditional, but halves are more practical. You know what, surprise me — but not in a way that suggests chaos.

Oh — and a pickle. A good one. Not one of those limp afterthoughts.

Thank you. I’m sure this will be perfectly adequate.

Oh, and thats a cute outfit, you should smile more.