something else,, quackity

vii

I'll be honest, I don't exactly know how a basic sandwich masterclass derailed into food Jenga on a park bench in the middle of nowhere. But it was probably my fault.

At first, we were just choosing the classic fillings from the store. Lunch meats, spreads, cheese. And then at some point I threw a pack of Jolly Ranchers into the basket.

Alex looked at me quizzically. I shrugged. "You said you'd pay."

"Fine then." His hand dragged along the shelves, eventually resting on a packet of Flaming Hot Cheetos. A smile curling on his face, he chucked them on top of the Jolly Ranchers.

And somehow, from there onwards, it kept spiralling downwards.

The items became weirder. And weirder. Oreos. Pickled onions. White chocolate. Olives. Waffle fries, frozen. Thin Mints.

Canned pineapple. Peanut butter. Oat crackers. A packet of tampons, because his eyesight is apparently shit and he thought they were giant marshmallows.

And now outside we're engaged in the most intense construction of culinary architecture, with only the blurry glow of a street lamp and our phone torches to brighten the darkness of the night.

"Okay, okay, okay." With a flourish, I gently rest the final slice of bread on top of my incredible creation. "It's perfect."

"What? How is that even standing up?" Alex exclaims, leaning towards the towering stack of various incompatible foods. I grab his arm before he can touch it.

"Hey! No interfering with rival competitors!"

"Oh, so it's a competition now?"

"Life is a competition, my friend."

He raises his eyebrows and grabs the plastic knife stuck in the tub of peanut butter, continuing to smear it across the strip of ham at the top of his sandwich. "Okay. Get ready to lose then."

"Whoa! You really think that could have a chance beside this?" I gesture to my marvellous invention. Well, maybe marvellous is the wrong word. Showstopping is probably more accurate.

There are so many layers that I can't even remember where it started. The first distinguishable one is strawberry jam, followed by swirls of whipped cream, then thick strips of chicken and hastily-thrown-together guacamole with massive lumps of avocado and barely-chopped tomatoes — in fairness, I was working with one of those "environmentally friendly" (code for useless) wooden spoons as a masher, so the fact it worked even slightly is impressive.

A spiral of pink marshmallows sits on top, and some Thin Mints. A smidge of Marmite, some honey, a scattering of Mini Cheddars, and finally my beloved Jolly Ranchers.

"You call that competition? It wouldn't even get past the auditions!" he laughs dismissively, gesturing to the vibrant stack on his My Little Pony paper plate.

I scan it. Pickled onions, Nutella, plastic cheese, a million gummy bears, pineapple, lettuce and what appears to be an entire bottle of sprinkles.

"Not bad, I'll give you that. But I can assure you mine's better."

"Yeah? Prove it."

And before I can even think about what I'm doing, I take a massive bite of my sandwich.

Alex's face contorts in awe and disgust as I munch down on the abhorrent creation. Yep, that's the Mini Cheddars. Fuck, chicken with guac and jam tastes strange. But a challenge is a challenge.

I look him dead in the eyes as my taste buds slowly deteriorate in my mouth, both of us marvelling at how I'm still resisting the urge to gag or wince or spit it out.