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Amelia was a young girl who ran a tiny convenience shop on the edge of town. Her most popular item was her colossal, foot-long submarine sandwiches. However, Amelia had a secret: her subs had begun talking to each other.

It started subtly. Amelia would put two sandwiches on the counter, and she'd hear faint whispers.

"Did you hear about the Rye Bread who went on holiday? Very dry, apparently," a Turkey and Swiss sub would mutter to a Ham and Cheddar sub.

The problem was that the conversations only started when the sandwiches were touching, and they grew louder the longer they conversed.

One busy afternoon, Amelia made a massive, ten-sandwich order for the local library's annual book sale. She stacked them neatly.

The resulting sound was deafening. The ten subs were arguing fiercely about which type of lettuce had the most political integrity.

"Romaine is far too crunchy! No subtlety!" bellowed the Italian sub.

"Iceberg is refreshingly non-committal!" shrieked the Veggie sub.

Amelia tried to ignore the noise, but a customer, Mr. Peterson, pointed at the stack. "I believe your phone is ringing, Amelia. Or perhaps a tiny chorus of angry tenors?"

Amelia smiled nervously. "Oh, that's just... the steam, sir. Making a little... culinary chime."

She knew she had to separate them. If the sandwiches kept talking, they would all go stale from over-excitement and argument.

Amelia rushed into the back room and returned with ten sheets of thick, rigid cardboard. She wedged a piece of cardboard between every single sandwich, separating the bread and the conversation partners.

Silence. Blessed, sweet, beautiful silence.

Mr. Peterson looked puzzled. "Why the cardboard walls, Amelia? Are they fighting?"

"No, sir," Amelia explained, carefully wrapping the now-silent subs. "I call this the 'Active Listening Barrier.' It prevents structural collapse and ensures the lettuce remains fully present and engaged."

She handed the quiet box to Mr. Peterson, who was thrilled. Later, Amelia realized the sandwiches hadn't stopped talking; they were simply whispering so softly that the cardboard absorbed the sound. She leaned close to the last sub in the stack—a quiet Roast Beef—and heard a tiny, contented sigh.

"Ahhh. Finally. Alone with my pickles. They never argue."