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Steve didn’t mind working the late shift, for the most part. He’d always been a night owl and in between his tasks as a ‘sandwich artist’ -- which Sam constantly teased him about -- he had an opportunity to work on his sketchbook projects. Steve also got a discounted employee meal that -- unlike other fast food places with a menu full of allergens -- he could actually eat.
Sure, he had to deal with drunk or high customers once in a while, and the occasional homeless person, but he’d never felt threatened or as if he were in danger. That said, the guy who just stalked into the shop put Steve on high alert. Dressed in dirty, sweat-stained black, with long, dark hair that looked as if it hadn’t been washed in at least a week, the man moved like an apex predator. But when Steve looked beyond the grime and the serious resting bitch face, he could see a pretty good-looking guy.
The stranger's expression changed to one of mild confusion as he looked around, then asked a question in what sounded to Steve a little like Russian.
“I’m sorry,” Steve apologized. “I don’t understand what you said.”
The man frowned and shook his head. Then, with what appeared to be some difficulty, said, “Train station? Deli?”
Holding back a smile, Steve replied slowly, “The name is confusing, I know, but yes, this is a deli.” He waited a moment for a reply, then added, “Can I make a sandwich for you?”
The question seemed to trouble the man, his eyes flicking nervously over the contents of the case before giving Steve a bewildered, yet hopeful look. This struck Steve as a little odd; even if the guy didn’t know the English words, he could simply point to what he wanted. But something about his customer piqued Steve’s empathy -- maybe he was simply overwhelmed by so many choices.
“Okay, let’s start with the bread.” Steve took out examples, holding up each one and saying its name. The man wrinkled his nose at the wheat bread, gave the flatbread a suspicious look, then nodded when Steve showed him the white bread.
“Half or full?” Based on his customer’s hollow cheeks, Steve hoped he would reply that he wanted a full-sized sub, and he did. But when Steve got out a knife to cut the bun lengthwise, the man’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed and what little expression he'd been showing disappeared. The next thing Steve knew, his customer was wielding a deadly-looking knife of his own.
“Hold on,” Steve said, willing his voice not to shake, “I’m just going to use this to slice the bread so I can make your sandwich, and it’s barely sharp enough to do that. Is that okay?”
The man relaxed his stance, then, with an embarrassed look, nodded and put his knife away. “Sorry,” he murmured.
Steve took a deep, calming breath; maybe the guy had some sort of PTSD. “Okay - let’s start building your sandwich.” He pointed to and named each meat option, and did the same for the cheeses.
“Roast beef and cheddar.” The words seemed to come out more easily, and with a surprising lack of accent. No, that wasn’t quite right. He sounded like Steve’s elderly neighbor, a man who had lived his whole life on the same block in Brooklyn.
“You got it. Do you want it toasted?" There was that baffled expression again, so Steve moved onto the vegetables, hoping that was familiar territory for his customer. Wrinkled his nose at just about everything except the onions, he asked Steve to put lots of those on the sandwich, along with a generous squirt of mustard.
“Anything to drink?” Steve asked out of habit. And there was that troubled look one more time, as if he were unable to make a choice. “How about bottled water?” Steve offered, and got a thankful nod in reply.
When he told the man what he owed, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills and coins - including what looked to Steve like a gold coin that would easily be worth his entire month’s salary. Taking a ten dollar bill out of his customer’s gloved hand, Steve explained, “This is all I need. Let me get your change.”
“Thank you ... for your patience.” The reply was quiet and heartfelt.
“It was my pleasure,” Steve responded truthfully, slipping a cookie into the bag along with the sandwich; he looked like he’d enjoy something sweet. “I’ll be here again tomorrow night, if you need another sandwich.”
The small, shy smile in reply warmed Steve’s heart. "I'd like that.”