I often went to the sandwich shop. I ate sandwiches there often, and,on occasion, I had soup.

However I wasn’t having soup the day that I got the soup that wasn’t mine.

For a moment I thought that I must have been mistaken, but there wasn’t another order there.

So the soup must have been meant for me. I waited until the waitress came back, and told her that there had been a mistake, I’d gotten a ham sandwich, this was soup.

For a moment she stared at me. A look in her eye asked if another thing could please go wrong.

Then she reached into the soup, which had alphabet noodles, and pulled out a few letters.

In the order she fished them out: O-F-F-F-C-K-U

Of course that wasn’t the way she arranged them when she laid them out on the counter, while screaming that she quit.

I stood there dumbly. It wasn’t my fault that she’d messed up the order.

But I’d made her angry, I pushed her over the edge, and you could say it was my fault that she quit her job. And that’s something, I guess.