Dear Man in 14C Who Drinks Mustard Like It’s a Beverage

Dear Man in 14C Who Drinks Mustard Like It’s a Beverage,

Ciao, my angels. It’s me, Sassy Sorentina, reporting live from the skies somewhere between Milwaukee and Austin, where I have just witnessed something so upsetting, so confusing, yet so iconic that I may never emotionally recover.

Let me be clear. You are eating a sandwich. Totally normal. Encouraged, even. But instead of putting the mustard on the sandwich like a civilized adult raised indoors, you are taking bites of bread and meat… then squirting the mustard packets directly into your mouth.

Straight.

From.

The packet.

Sir.

This is not a condiment.

This is a lifestyle choice.

I watched you tilt your head back, squeeze the packet, and accept the mustard like communion. No shame. No hesitation. Just raw, aggressive confidence. It was giving unhinged Midwestern performance art.

And the precision. The grip. The commitment. You didn’t miss once. You’ve done this before. This is not your first mustard rodeo. Somewhere, someone taught you this and now here we are, trapped together at 30,000 feet while you cosplay that Tommy Boy scene in real time.

I should be horrified.

I should be alarmed.

But instead… I’m obsessed.

Because the audacity. The flavor-forward confidence. The way you looked around afterward like, “Yes. I did that.” I respect it. I fear it. I may tell this story for the rest of my life.

Milwaukee, Austin, mustard mouth man… thank you for reminding me that air travel is truly a shared human experiment.

Sincerely,

Sassy Sorentina 💋

(Currently rethinking condiments, boundaries, and what it means to be free)