I was walking through the break room during lunch on my way to get a soda. There was a man standing at a table in the middle of the room with sliced bread, cold cuts, and various condiments spread out before him. Even someone with ramen noodles filling their brain cavity would have been able to tell that this man was actively engaged in making a sandwich.
As I completed my carbonated transaction, a blonde woman — dyed blonde, no less — walked into the room and inquired of Sandwich Boy:
“Making a sandwich?”