Promises, promises

Dear You,

If I were to make such claims, I would be embarrassed. The wrapper for my sandwich said in part: " . . . roasted turkey and lean Black Forest ham that tastes like a slice of heaven" and "bread, freshly-baked right in the restaurant for a deliciously soft center and incredible, crusty top." (the hyphen was there -- I would not have used it)

The sandwich, of course, was not just ordinary; without that wrapper I would have dismissed it entirely. An unmet expectation is always what lingers, don't you think? Certainly I did not stop at that Wendy's restaurant along the highway because I was looking for a heavenly repast. I was hoping for something to stave off the pangs of hunger at that hour, as well as somewhere to relieve my bladder.

That's another chapter -- a sign in the restroom held spaces for the attendent to note when he cleaned; the expectation, judging from the chart, was hourly. It was otherwise unmarked. And nearby was posted a notice, something to the effect of notifying management if the room was less than clean. I would describe it here, but who am I to suppress your appetite? I made the room, like the sandwich before it, serve its purpose.

Wisdom suggests here that I am not the one to broadcast aspersion. Should I be foolish enough to hold up a mirror at this point, certainly I would see unmet expectations and broken promises crowding the view.