"Idea sandwich"

 I entered the dim room, curtains drawn, just before lunch and sat near the wooden conference table, more an observer than participant.  It was still morning and nobody seemed awake, so I was glad nobody turned on the glaring fluorescent overhead lights. The boss, whose presence alone commanded your attention, begrudgingly squeezed us into his schedule for a few precious moments before he would get underway for a more important meeting, with "more important people" from some external entity.   

One of the younger staff members had a notion to prepare all the information we would give into an idea sandwich. That way, the boss could quickly scarf down the sum of all its parts and begone with no questions and no need for ponderous idle time. We didn't so much agree as we avoided dissent. There were only ten minutes left, and as the saying goes, "If you're late, you're dead." Conveniently there was a small galley a.k.a. coffee mess adjoining the room, and we went to work with hands flying and butter knives slapping on the sauce.

The boss came in, sat down at the head of the table, took one look at his sandwich and removed the carefully wrapped plastic cover (it was in some sort of convoluted layered triangular plastic sleeve) , lifted off the top slice of whitebread, glanced at the heavy mayo and loosely assembled shredded vegetables, closed it, and paused.

With his hands together and his brow furrowing he asked, "Was all this really necessary? You could have just told me what you wanted to say."