Originally written: 09/06/02

 

I'm getting a tad tweaked as the anniversary of 9/11 rolls around, but that's OK....

So...

I go to Subway the other day to grab a tuna wrap. I don't usually go there, as I'm not too crazy about their food, but they were on my way home.

Once I enter, I realize the place is deserted, except for a lone employee who was on the telephone in the back jabbering away in some foreign language I couldn't understand. No problem, I thought. It'll give me a minute to scope out the light-up picture menu overhead, and perhaps decide on something other than a tuna wrap.

I decided on the "steak and cheese sandwich with Dijon horseradish sauce" since the picture looked rather appetizing. Now if only "Mr. Foreigner" would get off the telephone...

A full TEN MINUTES after I entered this deserted Subway, Mr. Foreigner finally decided to finish his very LOUD argument and hang up the telephone.

He very SLOWLY approaches the counter (keep in mind that I am the ONLY customer in this stupid place).

MR. FOREIGNER: Can I help you?

ME: Yes (pointing to the overhead picture menu), I'd like a footlong steak and cheese sandwich with Dijon horseradish sauce, on white, to go, please.

MR. FOREIGNER: What kind of roll?

Me: uh, on white. That's a footlong steak and cheese sandwich with Dijon horseradish sauce, on white, to go, please.

MR. FOREIGNER: Six inch or footlong?

ME: Um, footlong. That's a footlong steak and cheese sandwich with Dijon horseradish sauce, on white, to go, please. Just like the picture (pointing).

MR. FOREIGNER: (after SLOWLY getting a white roll, and putting some steak on it) Cheese?

ME: Um, yeah (getting disgusted now, and tired of explaining). Just like the picture (I point to the picture again).

MR. FOREIGNER: (he ponders the menu for a while, looking back and forth between the sandwich and the menu. He pauses a little longer, and adds cheese to the sandwich. Then he stares for a LONG time at the WRONG picture on the menu)

ME: No, no, no... NOT that sandwich...THIS one (pointing to the picture). You can make it just like the picture, and I'd like it to go.

MR. FOREIGNER: (after studying the picture some more) Veggies?

ME (impatiently at this point): Yes, JUST LIKE THE PICTURE.

MR. FOREIGNER: (after studying the picture some more) Lettuce?

ME: YES, LETTUCE... and tomato and onion. JUST LIKE THE PICTURE And don't forget the Dijon horseradish sauce.



MR. FOREIGNER: (after me having to tell him EACH vegetable as they were applied, and while studying the picture some more) Mayo?

ME (fuming): NO MAYO. DIJON HORSERADISH SAUCE.

MR. FOREIGNER: (studying the picture some more, and rummaging through all the different "sauce" bottles...none of which are labeled)

ME (a very large vein is now bulging and throbbing on my forehead): That's DIJON HORSERADISH SAUCE, and this is TO GO.

MR. FOREIGNER: (after studying the picture some more, takes a random unlabeled "sauce" bottle, and puts the sauce on my sandwich. I have NO idea which sauce he used. Neither does he.)

He wraps the sandwich.

MR. FOREIGNER: For here or to go?

ME (ready to slit my wrists with a rusty razor blade at this point): TO GO.

I FINALLY got my sandwich. Mr. Foreigner undercharged me by around three bucks. Normally, I would have come clean about that, but considering my ordeal, I decided to Just pay him what he rang up, and GO.

He was back arguing LOUDLY on the telephone again before I even made it to the front door.

As an added bonus, the sandwich sucked.


 Roadtripguy