The Sandwich Test - My we-write short story entry.

"Ugh! The bread is soaking wet! Bread is not supposed to be soaking wet!" he snarled at me as he spit a soggy mouthful of half-chewed peanut butter sandwich into a tissue. I stood at attention next to his bed. He handed the sodden and heavy tissue to me.

He was now vegan, grain free, nightshade free, lectin free, phytic acid free, and deaf to my feeble protestations. He was not free, however, from his acutely tuned palate, which was maddeningly different from mine.

He had requested a peanut butter sandwich. I knew meeting all his new diet criteria would be a bitch, but I rose to the challenge. I had to.

I chose a very small ten dollar loaf of 'bread' and bought it. I bought some raw peanuts. I shelled the peanuts. I soaked, sprouted, and dehydrated the peanuts. After very lightly roasting them, I ground those peanuts into peanut butter. I then very carefully smeared the freshly ground peanut butter onto the somewhat normal looking bread. I made sure to get the peanut butter to the edges just like I had learned in home economics class long, long ago.

I knew how to make a proper tea sandwich.

I now spent my life trying to make this man happy. I signed up for that didn't I? Wasn’t that my reason for being? To make this man happy?

Well, he was not happy with that sandwich.

MY ENDING:

I punched the small red icon in the corner. Frustration boiling over, I barely held myself back for the system to safely withdraw the empath link. Not a moment too soon, the clear chime sounded in my ear along with a slight pricking behind my left ear, as the composite electrode withdrew from my skull socket. Impatient to get up, I fumbled at the clips to the ties holding me in place, almost splitting a nail in the process. I should have expected the "all-knowing" Master Sergeant or 'chief' as everybody called him, would have noticed.

My first step away from the simulator and I was facing the chief. I decided that offense was my best defense (it never works with the chief- but I was that frustrated.) After a fast but regulation salute I came to attention and launched my attack.

"You know sir that I have no training in Terrestrial Humanities(TH). I was always going to fail this one."

"This test had nothing technical. You were supposed to blend in as a TH domestic."

"Sir I am a micro-dissonance cyber activity major. I have never met a TH..."

"No cadet on this station has. That IS WHY THESE TEST MODULES ARE THERE." The chief grinded out each word with a frostiness and menace that had me scared silent. His presence had just acquired a darker shade.

After a few agonizing seconds of silence the chief continued.

"You will take this test again. If you fail Again, you go back to primary training for two months. And you do not get an off this week for this childish tantrum."

"Yes Sir, Chief. I am going back in right now."

"We need to be among them. Ready for the mother fleet. You want to save lives, yes? You do want to go to Earth, don't you?" Something in his voice had changed when he asked the question and it made me anxious me all over again.

"I will perfect "The model housewife." today Chief."

Only when the chief turned away did I breath again. My anger was deterred by awe, the chief had made me promise to perfect this shitty module. The guy was good. If we became half as good THs had no chance.

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PICTURE CREDIT: Pixabay.com