Let me clarify--I fucking love Chinese Sandwich Guy. Seriously, we are *tight*, I tell you, even if I don't know his name. I get tired of dining hall food easily, so I end up getting a lot of sandwiches at the campus center; about three times a week. After the first initial months of trying all of my sandwichy options and realizing what I liked best I started memorizing the night staff, and noticed that the same, barely understandable Chinese guy was making my sandwiches every night. We started talking. A year and a half later he knows my major, asks me about my day, bitches at me for not wearing enough warm clothing (You get sick, you can no come to here, then who feed you?) and has memorized all of my various sandwiches. A few months ago, he told me that I am the only customer whose orders he has totally memorized at which point I felt huge swell of affection and happiness. I have perfected the timing of the operation--I have developed a sixth sense for when my sandwich will be ready and almost always arrive just as it is getting out of the grill. It's become a sort of joke between us; he insists that I'm spying on him, or else that I'm some sort of sandwich superhero, with ineffable Knowledge of the Grill.
I wish I knew more about Chinese Sandwich Guy. For somebody I see so often and joke with and complain with I realize I know almost nothing about him. A while ago we were having one of our weird quasi-over-the-counter conversations and it ended with him saying something along of the lines of 'Yes, because you are very smart" in response to something I had said and I nearly replied with "You make really great sandwiches!" and I felt like a total asshole.
In any case, I had a grilled cheese today, which he puts way more cheese in than he's allowed to by, I don't know, Sandwich Making Rules of The Campus Center. He leaned forward tonight over the counter and said, as if it were a secret "I put in six slices. Six." and smiled at me.
In conclusion, I ♥ you, Chinese Sandwich Guy. I really, really do.