pit beef

“Pit beef sandwiches for everyone!”

You certainly don’t hear that every day. So, I walk on over to the brick building where a guy was standing outside handing out fliers and telling everyone that there was free meat inside. He looked pretty content doing so, and I’ll give him all the props in the world for that. I’m doing what I thought I wanted to do growing up, and I’m miserable at work. This guy, I figure, didn’t grow up wanting to pass out fliers dressed in a dirty Colonel Sanders knockoff suit, but there he is, smile on face.

“Dude, what’s your secret?” I ask.

He looks at me, smiles and hands a lady walking by a pink flier. Then, turning his attention to me, he says “I do what I do and that’s what I do. You see, this is a stepping stone to …” he trails off as he hands another passerby a flier, this one lime green. “… one day finding out what it is we’re all meant to do.”

“Cool,” I said, taking a bright red flier from the guy. I walk inside. Figure I can’t pass up on a free pit beef sandwich.

Inside, those awful AC/DC wannabes Jet is on the radio. This sours my opinion of the potential of the free pit beef sandwich. Not enough, however, to keep me from getting in line with everyone else. I’m kind of surprised there are as many people in here. I guess free is a good way to get folks in the door. What I do notice is everyone is ordering other food. Me on the other hand, I just want my free sandwich.

A girl at the front of the line is wearing an Oregon t-shirt. I wonder if she went to the school or if she’s a bandwagon jumper. I mean Nike is funding the entire athletic department, so it’s no wonder that they’d be marketed well. She has blonde hair. It’s long, but not too long. Her eyes have a little too much makeup, but it’s a free sandwich.

Next in line is as German looking a person as I’ve seen in quite a while. He seems to not want to be in line with so many other people and soon I realize why. He places his order and he says “my usual for the office.” Seven sandwiches and 12 side orders. Whew. And all of us freeloaders are going to make him wait even longer. Of course, I could be mad having to wait for his order. Damn you German looking guy, why didn’t you call your order in!!! But, I don’t really care. I stumbled here and am enjoying the sights and sounds and actually the smells. Damn, those pit beef sandwiches smell awesome.

Behind German guy is a couple. They’re smitten with each other. Aww. The guy has on a rust colored corduroy jacket and jeans. Also Samba Classics on the feet. I like this dude. His woman? She’s a little fat with big boobs that are pressed way too tight inside a Bob Mould concert t-shirt from his solo tour in 1994. They kiss each other and order French fries with “extra, extra garlic” and two free sandwiches.

In front of me is a smelly dude. He’s been working out or he’s just a sweaty mess. His Co-ed naked lacrosse t-shirt is covered with Greek letters. So, I have to assume he’s in a fraternity. Which one, I have no clue as the shirt has many of them on it. He is wearing long tube socks that reach up to his knees. One of them is falling down, the other is not. His head is adorned with a Phoenix Suns baseball cap. Crooked to one side of his head. I hate it when people wear their hats like that. Of course, folks hated me wearing mine backwards. But, like I always told them, I wear it that way so it doesn’t blow off my head when I’m riding my bike. And I was doing it before Griffey Jr. made it cool.

Ha.

I get to the front, order my sandwich.

The gal behind the counter, probably 19 years old and very cute to boot, asks me if I’d like anything else.

“Nope, just a sandwich,” I say.

“They go great with a soda.”

“You got Nu Grape?” I ask.

“Nope, but we have Nehi!” she says expectantly. I guess she gets grief for folks only getting the free food.

“Nah. I’m a Nu Grape guy, not a Nehi man.”

“Ok. You’re No. 238.”

“Denied,” I say in a murmur.

“Excuse me?” she asks.

“Oh nothing.”

I wait six minutes. I know this because I looked at the clock while I waited for my food. It was one of those Hamm’s clocks with the wilderness scene of a stream with the water flowing. I dig those. If I had a bar, it would have one.

“No. 238!” a voice yells.

I get my sandwich and leave. There were picnic tables outside, painted red. It’s a nice day, why not eat out there.

After finding a seat, I open the wrapper and see a mass of meat, bread and sauce. It’s crusty and burnt a little on the outside, but soft and moist on the inside. Heavenly.

No wonder they give it away, I think. Because I’ll be back for more. Thank you Baltimore. You’ve finally given me something to like about you.