Friends, this past weekend I had an epiphany as delicious as any described on chicken and rice before. I realize this term is overused in modern say speech, but in this special case the word is no hyperbole. How can I make this assertion with such confidence, you may ask? In order to explain, I must start at the beginning.

I decided to take the Lucky Star Bus from Boston to New York. At $15 a trip, its a deal hard to beat when compared to the alternative, the $80 Amtrak train. One might wonder why if Amtrak costs so much more do so many people choose it over the bus. Its the same reason that country clubs require extravagant entry fees and that Princeton requires a current photo with every application. Like many things in life, you get what you pay for, and $15 apparently does not get much. As I sat at the back of the bus watching the minutes tick down to departure time, I found myself in a fortunate position. The seat next to mine was empty and there seemed to be plenty of room in other areas of the bus. I had hopes, visions of stretching out across two of the bus seats, pretending I was in first class, enjoying the high life that I’ve only seen in the cinema. Like many things in life however, this turned out to be another pipe dream of a stoned California hippy. When I saw the last passenger board, I knew deep down what would happen. Again, the stoned California hippy in me tried to evoke false hope. The hippy in me died the moment he sat down, and I knew at that moment that the next 4 hours would be a circle of hell reserved for good people to teach them that there is no such thing as karma. From the moment he sat down, he talked on the phone, at what I can only assume was normal volume in his homeland, in strange guttural tones that reminded me of a Gungan from Star Wars Episode 1, hence reaffirming my hatred of both foreigners and George Lucas. It was not just that Jar Jar had no empathy for the fact that I was forced to sit right next for an excruciating time, or that he was unnecessarily loud, or that he smelled like fish paste, but he had no concept of the tried and true all-American notion of personal space. The only thing that saved me was my trusty mp3 player, and I attempted to zone the world out with Smashing Pumpkins as I was jabbed repeatedly with both knee and elbow while Jar Jar relished the fried chicken which he had brought with him. And then the battery died.

But that’s when it hit me. As I opened my eyes in frustration, I saw the most beautiful thing. Beyond words. Beyond comprehension. Beyond all presumptive thoughts which I had held so dear. Shining in sunlight in the Burger King parking lot, glistening with the hope and dreams of 60 souls was a second Lucky Star bus. And after an eternity, as I finally mustered the courage to turn away fearing it would vanish, I saw that Jar Jar’s gaze was transfixed on the bus as well. In that moment, everyone on the bus–everyone–was in sync with one simple thought as they stared in silence. As we were traveling from Boston to New York, so these other adventurers were traveling from New York to Boston. In that moment, we were all travelers. In that moment, we were one. And so we did what any people would do if it so encountered members of its own tribe. We waved. And they waved back.

Friends, the Lucky Star Bus is delicious. It is one of the few vehicles by which we can return to our roots–a nomadic people struggling to survive, the smell of fish paste thick in the air, traveling far from our homes, some never to return. I was witnessing a new Ellis Island, a new $15 Statue of Liberty standing tall, a second chance for thousands. But more importantly, the Lucky Star Bus caters to all people, be he college student, investment banker, aspiring chicken and rice writer, or Gungan warrior. Even still, the Lucky Star Bus provides a common meeting ground. As I looked upon the second Lucky Star bus, I realized that this was the common man’s version of looking across the street at a second Starbucks–truly a bonding, uniting experience in a world where there are so few.

As the drivers patted each other on the back, we knew the moment was over. It was time for the second bus to leave. As it backed up, it gave us a love punch to the right rear bumper just so that we would not forget it. Don’t worry second Lucky Star bus. We wouldn’t have anyway.

In the beginning, there was the sandwich and the antisandwich. But the populace divided, and some did support the sandwich, while others did support the antisandwich, and so did society itself split and crumble  like stale bread at its sandwich-related seams. And the battles fought did shake the core of humanity itself.
So it is told that when all was lost did Steve the Baker appear. And so he did declare an end to the fighting as the battles had ravaged both sandwich and antisandwich alike, but he did determine that of the sandwich and antisandwich, there could be only one. So was a challenge issued to either side to put forth its best wich upon which Steve the Baker would pass judgment in a final test. Thus did each side search far and wide for the greatest sandwich and antisandwich makers in the land. And upon choosing the best did each side ask its maker to present the fruits of his labors to Steve the Baker. Steve the Baker did judge these wiches, and upon deciding so declared to the people that though each was delicious, the bread of sandwich did serve as a protective womb, keeping ones fingers clean during consumption. Thus did Steve the Baker decide that the the sandwich was the one true wich. So ended the Battle of the Wich. And the people rejoiced.