Subway Sandwich Shops devolved out of a missing episode of Fear Factor, which is either true or total bullshit.
I have been known to be in line and almost make it to the counter before THE FEAR sets in and I bolt.
I have yet to find it, but I am sure that botulism is on the menu.
The lady ahead of me is a disturbing piece of human oddness that takes a moment to absorb.
3 kids. One in the stroller. All screeching. A faint shit smell that makes me certain someone shit their diaper.
And the woman herself is a vision of trailer park loveliness.
400lbs on the low side, 450lbs if we’re being honest.
Muumuu’s may have gone out of style decades ago, but don’t try telling that to this little honey.
But the most noticeable thing about this lady is the one thing you cannot see.
She is pissed.
About what, who knows?
The sighs, the mutters under her breath.
As near as I can figure, she is convinced that the sandwich makers are wasting time and fucking around.
Even with my “Looking for something wrong” critical eye, they are not.
The order starts out ok, 3 kids meals, minimal substitutions.
And then its time for her sandwich.
Double meat. Not that unusual to ask for extra pulled pork on a sandwich.
But on a turkey sandwich? Really? Ok then.
The manager gets involved the second after the sandwich maker said “Que?” for the second time.
After a short, awkward moment, the manager relented and the meats were mingled.
But the best was yet to come.
It was after toasting, and during the condiments portion of the process that it happened.
“Mother-fucker! Did I ASK for pickles?”
Said loud enough that the entire room came to a halt.
It was an awesomely awkward moment, even her kids stopped trying to kill each other for a second and looked around confused, along with the rest of us.
It is not often that you see a human being spew that kind of vile shit in public.
Its usually the type of thing you hear about from a friend of a friend that swears they saw it, or on a Youtube video. (And you are convinced it was staged.)
But to see it live is a wondrous event, well worth jotting down in your diary or perhaps your blog.
The one thing I am missing is why this chunky diva is pissy in the first place?
They have agreed to everything she has rudely demanded.
But her answers are short and snappy, her demands spat out and backed by a glare.
In any other setting besides one that you can see your food the whole time, guarantied it would be spit on, and maybe garnished with pubic hair.
And before you start moaning that that sort of thing is just in movies, think again.
Pull your head out of your ass, its not a hat.
With my mouth, I am certain my food has been fucked with, and while I am not ok with that, I at least recognize that it goes on.
Enjoy your lunch.