A jury in DC recently acquitted the “Sandwich Guy” of misdemeanor assault, after he was filmed, and confessed, to throwing and hitting an ICE officer with a Subway sandwich.
His fate is far preferable to that of the assaultee, who will forever be known as “Onion Boy” or “Mustard Mike,” to his fellow ICE officers, for faking PTSD (Pastrami Thrown Stress Disorder) on the witness stand, by sobbing about the stench of mustard and onions on his bulletproof vest. The DC jury laughed off the charge, and no one offered to take him out to lunch afterwards.
This was in our nation’s capital. A far different legal outcome would have occurred if the incident had moved a hundred miles north to the nation’s original capital, Philadelphia. There, no one carries a Subway sandwich. Philadelphians are armed with hoagies, which is to a Subway sandwich what an Abrams tank is to a Prius.
First off, no one puts mustard on a hoagie. In Philly, mustard is reserved for hot dogs and the above-mentioned pastrami. A hoagie is lubricated with Italian dressing and seasoned with oregano. A pound apiece of prosciutto, salami and provolone are added. You never have to order extra meat on a hoagie. Extra meat is a given.
Onions are present, accompanied by lettuce, tomato and either hot or sweet peppers. Hoagies are not ordered by pointing at small tubs of useless veggies (I’m looking at you, nasty little tub of olives) or condiments. If you're a hoagie aficionado, you may order in just two words. “Italian, sweet,” or “Italian, hot,” and the fat guy with brawny arms behind the counter and you both know exactly what you want and what you’ll get. "You wanna Tastykake with that?" is the only question he might ask.
The hoagie is not served on a fresh-baked but mysteriously tasteless roll. It is served on a fresh crusty Italian roll baked that day by a local bakery. This armor is strong enough to hold the hoagie’s ingredients together, so weighty enough to serve as the outer shell of a projectile weapon.
Officer Onion would have instantly felt a hoagie’s impact through his bulletproof vest. It could easily have knocked him down, depending on how fat and/or off-balance he was. As he lay there, sprawled on the sidewalk, feeling the olive oil dripping down his face, possibly mistaking it for his own blood, the criminal intent of the perpetrator would have been obvious. It would not have been so lightly dismissed by a jury, especially a jury familiar with the hoagie shop at which it was purchased.
“Oh, yeah. Da hoagies dey got there are huge,” is a phrase that would have been heard during jury deliberations.
“Guilty.”
His fate is far preferable to that of the assaultee, who will forever be known as “Onion Boy” or “Mustard Mike,” to his fellow ICE officers, for faking PTSD (Pastrami Thrown Stress Disorder) on the witness stand, by sobbing about the stench of mustard and onions on his bulletproof vest. The DC jury laughed off the charge, and no one offered to take him out to lunch afterwards.
This was in our nation’s capital. A far different legal outcome would have occurred if the incident had moved a hundred miles north to the nation’s original capital, Philadelphia. There, no one carries a Subway sandwich. Philadelphians are armed with hoagies, which is to a Subway sandwich what an Abrams tank is to a Prius.
First off, no one puts mustard on a hoagie. In Philly, mustard is reserved for hot dogs and the above-mentioned pastrami. A hoagie is lubricated with Italian dressing and seasoned with oregano. A pound apiece of prosciutto, salami and provolone are added. You never have to order extra meat on a hoagie. Extra meat is a given.
Onions are present, accompanied by lettuce, tomato and either hot or sweet peppers. Hoagies are not ordered by pointing at small tubs of useless veggies (I’m looking at you, nasty little tub of olives) or condiments. If you're a hoagie aficionado, you may order in just two words. “Italian, sweet,” or “Italian, hot,” and the fat guy with brawny arms behind the counter and you both know exactly what you want and what you’ll get. "You wanna Tastykake with that?" is the only question he might ask.
The hoagie is not served on a fresh-baked but mysteriously tasteless roll. It is served on a fresh crusty Italian roll baked that day by a local bakery. This armor is strong enough to hold the hoagie’s ingredients together, so weighty enough to serve as the outer shell of a projectile weapon.
Officer Onion would have instantly felt a hoagie’s impact through his bulletproof vest. It could easily have knocked him down, depending on how fat and/or off-balance he was. As he lay there, sprawled on the sidewalk, feeling the olive oil dripping down his face, possibly mistaking it for his own blood, the criminal intent of the perpetrator would have been obvious. It would not have been so lightly dismissed by a jury, especially a jury familiar with the hoagie shop at which it was purchased.
“Oh, yeah. Da hoagies dey got there are huge,” is a phrase that would have been heard during jury deliberations.
“Guilty.”
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