I'd scheduled this sandwich like a dentist appointment—thirty uninterrupted minutes of peace. Three bites in, my coworker appears: "So what do you think about the Johnson report?" I now have a choice between swallowing a golf ball of bread or speaking like a malfunctioning walrus. Somehow I do both. She nods thoughtfully at my response, which was definitely just the word "mmph" with occasional vowels, and I realize she's going to base her entire afternoon on whatever my mouth just said.