Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Just take me to Subway.
Okay, so I have reached a whole new level of crazy. Or fussy. Or stubborn. Not sure.
I love Subway. I especially love Subway since I have sworn off all of the standard burger and fry fast food chains for the past 4 years. (side note: what an accomplishment that is for me! I grew up on that garbage, and was addicted to that crap for a long, loooooong time!)
In almost every area of town, I can tell you where the nearest Subway is located, and for my birthday this year, I received this many Subway gift cards ------->
(seriously, that has to be like, $70 worth of Subway right there!)
Awesome, right!? Right!
When I am out on the run, and getting hangry (so hungry that I'm getting angry), I go for Subway.
When I can't decide what to eat, I go for Subway.
When I don't feel like cooking, I go for Subway.
It's easy, it's everywhere, and I know exactly what I want.
I want roast chicken on whole wheat, sometimes with shredded cheese, sometimes without. I want lots of lettuce, and now that we have it in Canada (FINALLY, fuck!), I want spinach. Finish it off with cucumber, hot peppers, barbecue sauce and mustard.
And I want. it. cut. the. old. way.
That's right. I like the U-gouge. The old way. The boat.
The other way? Just wrong.
The same way that I have been ordering that same sandwich in multiple provinces, and 2 countries for......
But wait! Here is where the real crazy comes in.
If I wait my turn in line and get up to the counter, and the
clerk Sandwich Artist doesn't know how to cut my bread the old way, I'm asking them for the knife to do it myself.
Yes, that's right. I'll cut my bread my-damn-self. That is how important it is to me that I get the U-Gouge shaped bread.
All of this sounds crazy enough, right? Right.
Until last week. I went into the Subway location closest to me (not to be confused with my favourite Subway location at Baseline and Fisher in Ottawa), and see two new faces. Here is how it goes down:
Me: Hi. I'd like to order..... (see above)
Him: Okay. Toasted?
Me: No thanks. Do you know how to cut the bread the old way?
Him: Nope. Sorry.
Me: Okay. Can I do it myself then?
Him: No, I'm sorry. I can't give you the knife. That is a liability.
Me: Really? That's weird. I've done it here before, and in other locations.
Him. I'm sorry, I can't give you the knife to use.
Me: Okay then. Well, can he cut it the old way? (nodding towards other new kid on the block)
Him: I doubt it. He is even newer than me. (without even checking with the new kid!)
Me: Oh. Okay then. *long pause while we stare each other down* See ya!
And I left. Muttering the word "asshole" under my breath as I did.
I left the bloody store because they couldn't cut my bread the way I wanted it cut. It almost sounds nuttier now that I am writing it out. And admitting it to the 3 or 4 people who read my blog.
I have obviously reached a whole new level of
My sister is laughing her head off at me right now. I just know it.