I love me some Subway. I mean, white or wheat... toasted or not... do you want to make it a meal? All questions that I feel I never get wrong. Makes me feel like I got a perfect score on my SAT's. I mean, if you wanted a sandwich so original, with just tuna, banana peppers, hard boiled egg, horseradish dressing and then burn it in an Easy-Bake oven, you can have that! And maybe the best perk? It's only $5... (as long you don't use any of the real meats in the cooler). Find me a flaw in that dream meal. You can't.
You know what I DON'T like about Subway? THE PEOPLE WHO EAT AT SUBWAY. Because everytime I'm in line and ready to be served, there is a lady... sometimes she's old... sometimes she's Russian... sometimes I can't tell her sexual orientation. But that lady will be stuck on the glass, trying to build her ungratefully complex sandwich that apparently should get the same attention that your filet mignon from Ruth's Chris should get. You know this lady.
"What's thaaaaat?? I don't want any of THOSE on there...." or "No.. a little more tomato... more... more... too much, take that one off." Fingers on a fucking chalk board to me as MY Sandwich Artist can't get to my awesome, loved ingredients because this lady has the whole assembly lined backed up. It sucks. If I didn't picture myself savoring my beloved sandwich and keeping my cool, I would have certainly made headline news a long time ago for bashing her face into the sneeze-guard, like a rogue cop in an interrogation room.
I don't understand. How do you NOT know what a black olive tastes like? And WHY ARE YOU TAPPING ON THE GLASS, like you're picking out a goldfish at the corner pet store? It's a sandwich. Those toppings and ingredients? Yeah, their the same ones on the menu since some immigrant opened this shack 80 years ago. I mean, don't get me wrong, if you've never been to a chain restaurant or say, America, before... you wouldn't know what to do because unlike Burger King, you CAN have it your way. However, it's a sandwich. I'm pretty sure that whoever this waste of space is, she's made a sandwich at some point in her life... even if it was an accident. You can buy a loaf of bread from the store, but it gets wet and mushy because the ice cream melted on the ride home, making the bread soggy and chocolate cookie dough flavored... guess what. That's technically a sandwich.
And for the tragedy that is my life for being stuck in the same zip code as this bitch, it takes her 8x as long as the average verbal human being to get this sandwich made to code. Now, the REAL horror begins becuase she didn't know she could make it a meal. And of course, she doesn't want a fountain drink... she wants a Sobe lemon lizard piss, which is in a cooler that ISN'T part of the meal deal. Oh, and the Doritos that anyone with an IQ over 84 automatically chooses? Yeah, she wants the Sun Chips...but doesn't like Garlic and Herb. "Don't you have any of those Sea Salt flavored ones?" What the fuck, lady?? You just made up a flavor that doesn't exist! You're literally asking for divine intervention right now to bring you non-invented chips to go with a sandwich that is obviously going to become dinner instead of LUNCH, because you logged in 5 hard hours here learning how to make a sandwich. I mean, no wonder Jared lost 300lbs... he starved to death waiting to eat behind you!
So, the next time you witness this lady... and her nose is pressed up against the glass, tapping her index finger at the onions and asking why the green beans look like green pepper strips... do yourself the honor of keeping your sandwich simple so she can get lapped and you don't have to fall victim to the Sandwich Nazi. You and your online date will have such a better time finally meeting face to face.
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