Two weeks ago, I fell in love. I'm talking head over heels, hit one out of the park in love.
He's a really great guy. Just last week, he came over and visited me twice. Once, he even came to the library for me.
He always comes over when I call him, and he's prompt. It only takes him about ten minutes to get here. He even calls to tell me when he's on his way.
What's best about him? He makes me sandwiches.
Actually, you all might know him. He's pretty popular on campus. Women love him, and I've heard many men say they do too (straight up bromance). His name is James, or some call him Jimmy — Jimmy John.
That's right … two weeks ago I discovered my love for Jimmy John's.
It wasn't the first time we had met, by any means. But I'm not much for that love at first sight thing.
It was Biology that brought us together. I had a huge test that demanded every second of my dinnertime to study. I panicked because I knew I needed some brain fuel, but then I remembered my sandwich-making friends.
John, Rob — whatever the delivery boy's generic guy's name was — actually came into the building to deliver my sandwich. It didn't occur to him that I would be one of about a hundred girls in the library. This sure didn't help the awkwardness.
I tried to be as discreet as I could. The library was extra quiet that day, and there I was, ordering a Jimmy John's in the one place devoted to study, quiet and academia. My goal was to be stealthy, but this delivery kid blew my cover. He asked every female he saw if she was the Caitlin that ordered a sandwich.
Somehow, he had slipped past my radar and already caused a ruckus. I quickly handed him my $6 without looking at him directly in the face, and I hid the sandwich in my purse. I had to pass the reference librarians — I knew they would all judge, because I possessed the one thing in the world that could cover their floors with lettuce shavings, mayo and bean sprouts.
Then I wondered, "Was I even allowed to have food in the library?" I didn't care. I was one sticker away from unwrapping my little piece of heaven — a number 12 beach club (no avocado).
I proceeded to unwrap the sandwich … bad idea. Could Jimmy John's make packaging any noisier? The answer is no. Five things stood between me and my love: two staples, one bag, one sticker and the noisiest wrapping ever.
I tenderly separated each staple from the bag by hand, gently folded back the top and realized that trying to be quiet was only making matters worse.
So, I did it. I tore right in and didn't care who judged. It was worth it.
My love affair has a happy ending. I was not asked to leave, and they didn't take my book checking abilities away from me. My possible run-in with the library law only made my sandwich that much tastier. It was a smuggled good.
So here's to Jimmy John's and the ultimate form of product placement in yet another form of news media. Until we meet again, Jimmy, stay fresh.
The views expressed in the Inside Column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
Contact Caitlin Housley at chous101@saintmarys.edu
