Having one of those crazy-busy days, where it seems impossible to pack all the things that need to be done into the ever-shrining hours in the day. For lunch, Subway emerged as the logical choice, since it is on the bottom floor of the building which houses my lively, shared office space.
I got downstairs, yanked open the door and almost bulldozed the kid in front of me. The line was backed up all the way to the door. For Subway? Whatever. My only real option was to walk across campus to fetch food. So I staked my space in line.
The sandwich artists were moving at the speed of a caterpillar navigating through molasses. Fine. Gives me more time to pick out my chips.
I order my usual (6″ veggie on wheat, American cheese, extra cheese, toasted please) and continue eavesdropping on the conversation these two kids behind me are having about how weed should be legalized. I look back at the sandwiches a few minutes later and realized that my apathetic sandwich artist has put Mr. Legalize Pot’s chicken breast on my double cheese toasted bread. Shit.
I point out her mistake. She says, “Oh,” and proceeds to pull the chicken breast (which has stuck to the cheese) off my bread, leaving a trail of melted cheese. She plops the chicken breast on pothead’s sandwich and pats down the cheese on my sandwich. “What would you like on that?” she asks, blithely.
Wha?
“Yeah, you are going to need to remake that,” I say, with as much civility as I can muster after half and hour in Subway waiting for a sandwich.
Dude. Gross. I don’t want some other cat’s chicken juice all over my bread and cheese.
What valuable lesson can we learn from this? That both sandwich making and common sense are dying arts. It is the only logical conclusion in such a crazy, mixed-up world.
Or that I should bring my own lunch to school. Either way…
No comments:
Post a Comment