By Jason Altman
The news was so depressing these days. All that was covered was politics and crime. Today, they were talking about the 14 deaths related to who they were calling, “The Cheesesteak Bomber.” Apparently, 14 people received a note in the mail saying they needed to eat a cheesesteak in the next 24 hours, or they would explode.
Unfortunately, either none of them had believed the note, or somehow they were unable to eat a cheesesteak. I don’t know how that’s possible, since we live in Philadelphia, and there’s a cheesesteak place around every corner. I shut off the TV, and thought about how I would never be a victim of The Cheesesteak Bomber, since I own a cheesesteak place myself. As I got ready for bed, I forgot about the news and started thinking about work the next day.
I woke up to a knock at my door. It was odd, since I don’t usually get visitors at my apartment. I got up and walked to my door, and looked through the peephole. I was surprised to see nothing there, so I opened it and looked around. I saw a package on the floor, so I picked it up and brought it inside. I noticed it was surprisingly light, and when I cut it open, all I found was an envelope. I opened the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper inside. It read, You have been selected. You have 24 hours. Do not contact the police, or you will explode instantly -The “Cheesesteak Bomber.” I was shocked. Why was I chosen? What should I do? Should I call the police? Was it just a prank? I didn’t believe it was real. But at the same time, I didn’t want to risk it, since it was obviously a real threat. I figured I would just go downstairs to my shop and eat a cheesesteak.
As I walked down, one of my chefs, Brain, rushed up to me and said, “Hey dude, the meat shipment never came. We’re supposed to open in an hour and we don’t have any steak!” My mind started racing. How was the exact day I got targeted by the Cheesesteak Bomber be the day my shop didn’t have any meat? “Close the shop for the day, Brian. I have some personal things to attend to,” I said. “But, But,” He started. I cut him off, “No. We’re closed today.” I walked out of my shop, hoping my next idea would work.
I walked to block’s to Tony’s Cheesesteaks, my rival in the cheesesteak business. I walked inside, and said, “Tony, listen. I need to eat one of your cheesesteaks.” Tony looked up from the counter, “No,” he said, “You just want to try to figure out my secret recipe.” “No, that’s not it. I got a note from The Cheesesteak Bomber, and my shop ran out of meat, and if I don’t eat a cheesesteak in the next 23 hours, I’m going to die,” I said, “Please just do this once. I’ll pay $100.” Tony replied, “No, I don’t care. Get outta here before I call the police.” I walked away dejected. I walked to the edge of the street and hailed a cab. It still wouldn’t be too hard to find a cheesesteak, right?
The next 10 hours seemed to be the same conversations on repeat. “Sorry, we’re out of meat.” “We’re closed today.” “Our meat shipment never came.” Everyone was saying the same thing. There was not a shred of meat to be found in all of Philadelphia. I checked the grocery stores, every restaurant I could, even the Wawas didn’t have meat. I got home and sat down at my computer. I did some research and found that there was a meat shortage stretching from Maine, to Missouri, to Georgia.
Then I remembered something. My sister worked at Wawa for 20 years, and she had told me they were opening new Wawas in Florida this year. I quickly opened a new tab, and booked the last ticket for the next flight to Miami. I rushed outside, and got a taxi headed straight for the airport.
3 hours later I boarded my flight, and 3 hours after that, I touched down in Miami. I looked at my watch and saw I still had 7 hours left. 7 hours to find a Wawa. I exited the airport and got in a taxi. I told the driver to take me to the nearest Wawa, which he said was an hour away. As we drove, I thought about why this happened to me. Who would do this, and why me?
As I thought back on my day, I remembered something strange. When I went to Tony’s he didn’t tell me he was out of meat. He only told me to leave. That meant that he was one of the only people on the entire east coast that had an open cheesesteak shop. And it just so happened that he was my biggest rival. He must be the bomber. He must’ve orchestrated this entire thing, and killed 14 other people to disguise his true target, me. With my business out of the way, he would’ve been free to start franchising his business and build a cheesesteak empire.
Then I remembered the final nail in the coffin. Tony’s father owned one of the largest meat distributors in the country, which supplied almost the entire east coast. His father didn’t send out any shipments, which led to the meat shortages. I pulled out my phone and dialed a phone number. I hung up the phone as we pulled into the Wawa parking lot, and stepped out onto the pavement. 5 minutes later, I had a warm cheesesteak in my hands that quickly disappeared into my stomach.
Then, I got another taxi and headed back to the airport. I walked off the plane to a crowd of reporters and FBI agents. The agents rushed me off to a secluded part of the airport and told me that Tony was under arrest and I was safe now. They also told me that his father had been taken in, and they were both looking at life in prison for multiple counts of murder and terrorism. I could now go back to normal, and with my newfound publicity, maybe my shop could be the start of an empire.
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