I hadn't been to a Pret a Manger since I left my last real job because I used to eat there way too often. The thought of it was enough to induce nausea; I had to hold my breath whenever I walked by one. But a Pret just opened near my apartment, and I'm bored by the lunch options around here, so I wandered over. I grabbed an egg-salad sandwich, an edamame-and-chickpea salad, and a lentil-and-couscous salad. (I liked how they had non-chip side options to bulk out a lunch. I get hungry!) At the register, the clerk read to me what I had chosen, and I willfully ignored her. It always annoyed me how they'd tell me what I was buying. Did they think I didn't know? That I had just plucked items off the shelf all willy-nilly? (You can imagine how I feel at restaurants when the servers place a dish in front of me and then reel off the ingredients.) I looked down at my money, noticing when she glanced up at me as if to doublecheck the order, but I refused to acknowledge it. I was training her.
Back at home, I discovered that I had picked up two of the same salad.
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