I’ve been pretty into Subway sandwiches in the past. Not so much anymore. It seems like people either love ‘em or hate ‘em and I’ve gone both ways.
Still, I’m not proud to admit that tonight while watching American Idol I decided to Eat Fresh. So me and Steph suited up for the cold and headed to the Subway on Houston.
Just as we were opening the door we meet our Sandwich Artist — leaning over the counter with a finger in his ear, up to the second knuckle. What could we do? It’s too late to leave now. I’m pretty much cracking up and Steph and I are each trying to make the other go first. She does, and a second Sandwich Artist heads my way. As relieved as I am, I’m still on the verge of exploding in laughter. I muster up enough maturity to point to Steph’s sandwich, she’s getting the usual so I say, “I’ll have the same.”
And like always, that means toasted. So the sandwiches go in. And come out. In the most grotesque ballet imaginable, the Sandwich Artists switch places. Waxfinger takes over on my sandwich and it’s all downhill from there. I can’t even oder my toppings properly and he barely puts any mustard on the damn thing.
And that’s the lesson. Forget Jared and $5 footlongs be damned. Don’t give in to Subway!
Post a Comment