"Siri, seriously? You can't find me a meatball sandwich?" I begged standing on the street corner while taking Piper for a walk.
Sometimes you just want a meatball sandwich. Where I come from, you can get a sandwich at any time of the day, put whatever you want on it and eat (and feel) like a king. Sure, Southern California has beautiful sunsets, beaches, and fantastic weather, but, WHERE THE HELL ARE THE SANDWICHES? I know, carbs are the enemy out here, we get it, I really want a sandwich though. And I want it easily, and cheaply, available at anytime. I love the neighborhood and how small-town it feels in such a spread out city, but all the pizza places and lunch spots close at 10.
I did get through to one mom and pop pizza shop down the street from my house, cleverly named, The Slice. They answered the phone "Thanks for calling The Slice, we are closed." I paused for a second to think about why they would pick up the phone just to let me down and responded with, "Well, can I get a meatball sandwich?" They said no, told me they were closed again and then hung up. What the hell is that shit?
First world problem? Yes. But I just really wanted a meatball sandwich.