I hadn't yet bought a sandwich from him, largely I bring homemade food in a bid to economise and because my wife's leftovers are usually marvellous. Then in a positive avalanche of synchronicity I find myself in turn:
1. Getting to know him a bit
2. Hungry and without food, and here's the kicker,
3. Actually having cash on my person.
(Like the queen I don't carry cash, but unlike the queen who receives a moderate stipend from the British public for waving, my earnings usually make their way directly from bank account to direct debit/Amazon Prime and rarely see the dim light of my pocket).
Anyway, I bought a sandwich. BUT NOW WHAT? He comes every day and sets up outside my officecupboard and says hello. Am I obliged to buy a sandwich every day? - if I don't at least buy a second will he think I didn't like the first (I did) - or worse, don't like him (I do, but only as friends).
He also sells snacks so I have the added nightmare of never being allowed to eat anything whilst he's hawking his wares in case he takes it as a personal affront to his snacks AND his craft – how dare I not support a fellow actor…?
Like when you've been to the mini-Sainsbury’s and remember you forgot milk and the corner shop is on your way back and you walk in with a Sainsbury’s bag and apologetic look on your face that tries to say: "I KNOW I should be supporting local businesses but my perception is that your prices are higher than the mini-Sainsbury’s - even though I've never checked - and I am an artist who doesn't value money but also doesn’t make a lot so whilst I live a full and rich life it genuinely makes a difference to me when I buy the special offer multipack of Wotsits.”
And now the sandwich man has been replaced by a lady from HR who once a week brings in homemade Indian food to sell.
I’m going to go and close the door.