Schlotzky’s sandwich of some kind. It was supposed to be a fiesta chickn
sandwich but I may have mumbled. The receipt said dijon chicken. I
despise dijon mustard so while bringing the bag of food back to the
office, I kept enunciating “fiesta, dijon, fiesta, dijon.” I’ve eaten the
sandwich and I still don’t know which it was. If it was dijon, it wasn’t
as bad as I thought.