So you've decided to eat a sandwich.

I'm standing in line at Blimpie on a Saturday afternoon and there's a man sitting at a table talking to himself. I have one thought. This man is going to try to begin a conversation with me. How do I know? Out of twenty customers, how do I know he's going to choose me? Because people who like to talk to themselves also like to talk to me. I must have the appearance of a beloved childhood friend that everyone once had. While I'm trying to figure this out, he comes and stands next to me. He looks at me, then down at the counter. At me, then up at the television. Then me again. I turn my head as he burns his gaze into my hair like he's going to make crop circles. And he says to me, "Where do you stand?" I'm speechless as I think this question over. The question seems strangely profound.
I remember all of the conversations I've had with homeless people and street crazies. One man imparticular once told me he was the King of America, so I heard him out. He talked for about ten minutes, ending his rant with, "because I'm the King of America." I just looked at him and said, "No you are not. If you were the King of America you'd have a crown or a harem or a procession following you around and picking up your shit for you or a neclace made of infant skulls or something. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You're so dirty I can't even tell what your ethnicity is. You only have six teeth and you have a tattoo of one of the Allman brothers on your forearm."
But this man said this one sentence to me and I had no response. I couldn't even think of anything sarcastic to say like, "Same place you stand, o' slave of Newtonian physics." Then he left. I thought about his question all the way home and honestly couldn't think of an answer. I mean, I know what I believe in and I know what I want... don't I? Do I have a good short answer for that question? An answer that sums up my whole existence? When I'm dying will I be able to say to the nurses and the doctors and my family, "This is where I stand"? And what if at the ivory gates I'm being asked the same question by St. Peter? "Philip Atherton, where do you stand?"
In retrospect I should have been more socratic and answered his question by asking him the same question. I might have learned something. Or possibly have been stabbed in the heart with his plastic fork.