A couple years ago my father opened up a sandwich restaurant.

Now you may think this is like a Subway

well guess what dude it freakin aint. We only sold PB&J’s and that's hard work there boy. So many kinds
of jelly or jam. Crunchy or Smooth peanut butter it was a hard time folks didn’t treat you human. They
yell at you and spit on you, they dang near broke my nose once. A bunch of animals. Anyhow I worked
long, I worked hard, and I worked for a low wage.

Every morning my father would make me go in at 4:00 and make 40 sandwiches of each type (except
strawberry jelly with smooth peanut butter for some reason) It would take me around an hour
sometimes less if I didn’t care about mixing most people don’t even notice. Anyway so it’s around 5:00
my father finally arrives and has to do the taste test where he eats 5 of every sandwich. After that his big
round belly swells and he has to sleep it off.

Now the customers arrive. I’m throwing bread in the air, swishing my knife glazed with jelly onto a slice.
Smear peanut butter on the other half and smoosh them together “That’ll be $3.99” I say. They pull out
a hundred-dollar bill. I stab the fella with my butter knife and flee the scene. Nah but seriously I have to
give him exact change. He does this every day I think it's some sort of sexual satisfaction I don’t know.

I wanted to give up I really did but I just love my father so stinking much I would not want to make him
angy with me that would not be epic.

Thankz 4 reading :)