A Special Request

"This...this is the hill you're willing to die on?"

He eyed me for what felt like two years and then finally nodded in the affirmative. I dropped my head in my hands and clawed at my face in frustration.

"I can't believe we're arguing over this," I muttered, running my hands through my hair to emphasize my point.

"It's important."

"It's really not."

"How can you say that?"

"Because my tastes differ from yours," I countered.

"But does that make your taste correct?"

"In this instance, yes."

Jim, my current sparring partner, started pacing back and forth. "How can you just dismiss my opinion out of hand."

"I'm not," I said with more than a hint of exhaustion, "but I think, in this very specific instance, I'm right and you're wrong."

"Now I'm WRONG?" Jim bellowed and then followed with mock laughing. "Wrong! My word, aren't I just a big doofus."

"I never called you a doofus," I clarified.

"But I'm wrong?"

"Not in life, but about this, yes!"

"Of all the slings and arrows to shoot at me..."

"Now you're wrong AND being dramatic."

"You're pushing my buttons," Jim said, still pacing.

"I don't know why," I said, tucking back a strand of hair that fell into my face. "We have this discussion all the time."

"Because you refuse to see the validity of my point!"

I sighed. I really didn't want to get into this again but I really didn't have a choice. Jim wasn't going to give in. "You're point is...."

He cut me off. "Can I run a hypothetical past you?"

"Sure"

"Let's say, you live during Roman times..."

"Oh my God," I said, placing my head in my hands, again.

"...and everyone in the realm loves the Roman gods. They're crazy for them! Also, they keep adding to the pantheon whenever they conquer some other people. Need a god of birds, BOOM! You got a God of birds now."

"Is this going...."

"Then, all of the sudden here comes this carpenter from some small, far-off province with a lot of radical ideas about gods. Namely, there is only one and he's his kid."

"Are you seriously comparing yourself to Jesus?"

"Our plights are very similar. I'm going against the established order. I'm doing radical things! I'm saying, 'nay, there is only one god, not several. The God of birds is the one god'."

"God of birds?"

"Yes, the Romans had Gods for literally anything. There was a god of bees, a god of honeycombs, and a god of honey. Why not just combo those three bad boys and have a god of bees?"

"I don't know or care," I said.

"The ancient Romans were a wild bunch of dudes," Jim said, apparently not understanding what I meant by "not caring."

"You don't say."

"They used to eat a fermented fish sauce called garum. I mean, they loved the stuff. Slathered it on everything. Can you imagine having fermented fish sauce on everything? That'd be odd."

"Would it get me out of this conversation?" I quipped.

"Funny," Jim said, "but, seriously, back to Jesus..."

"Oh, Christ."

"The comparison is apt. People questioned Jesus's beliefs in his time the same way you're questioning mine now."

"I think the things Jesus was advocating for were a tad more important than what you are advocating for."

"Maybe. Who can say, really?"

"I can," I countered. "I can say."

"But you have to admit we have the same passion."

"I don't have to admit that at all."

"Something else you're wrong about," Jim said, nodding like he made some major point.

"Tell you what, you start a religion that centers around your insane belief and I'll agree to that point. Until then, you're just some weirdo who makes absolutely insane comparisons."

"Hey," Jim said, "that's a bit over the line." He seemed genuinely hurt. I relented.

"Sorry," I said, "you comparing yourself to Jesus is totally not insane at all. Just normal human behavior we all should emulate."

"Exactly," Jim said, "And, like Jesus, I will forgive your sins against me."

"You're insane. Like, 'toss you in a loony bin and throw away the key' crazy."

"Look," Jim said, his eyes pleading, "I know I'm not Jesus Christ."

"Thank God for small miracles."

"But there is a lot in common with our stances."

"How? How do you even get to that point?"

"I mean, we're both rebels."

"Oh my God, fine. You're both rebels. Granted, there are more appropriate rebels in history you could've compared yourself to, but sure, go with Jesus."

"I needed to go big to win the fight."

"You haven't won anything. I'm not conceding an inch. I'm right and you're wrong."

Jim started to speak but I cut him off, "BUT, I'm also tired. So, so, tired."

"So you'll do it?"

I sighed. "Fine."

Jim cheered like he'd just hit a walk-off grand slam to clinch the World Series. I shook my head at him. "Act like you've been here before, dude."

"I have been here before. Every Thursday, this is where I end up...the victor!"

"So, to repeat, you want a turkey on rye with," I sighed again, "ketchup?"

"And extra pickles."

"And extra pickles," I repeated. "Will that complete your order?"

"You know it will."

I made Jim his sandwich and handed it over to him. He handed over a ten. "You guys have any fun soda flavors? Like 'Turkey dinner' or 'cotton candy' or 'bubble-yum-yum'?"

I shot him a look.

"Coke it is," he said and grabbed a bottle. He smiled and excitingly pointed at the label, "Look! It says Jim on it."

"Fascinating," I dead-panned as I handed back his change. Jim, wisely, dropped it all into the tip jar.

"See you next Thursday," he said, giving me a little wave as he left.

"I'm counting down the days."

He walked out and I took a small moment to reset myself. I looked over at the next person in line and shot them my best fake smile. "Welcome to Sandwich Shack, what can I get started for you today?"

"I was wondering if you can do a special request...."