“Mayonnaise and tuna flatbread…?” Bruce questions, with an eyebrow raised, looking only mildly disturbed in his pristine million-dollar three-piece suit, your mortifyingly horrible Subway sandwich order sitting shamefully in the Uber Eats bag he’s holding.

He just stands there in your doorway and stares at you, as if this is a normal routine for hot local billionaires in your area, saying slowly, “Why would you order something like this? At three-fifty-two, no less?”