Dumb as a sub sandwich
Q: Can people really be that stupid?
Every time I start getting a little respect for humanity back, someone comes along and flushes it down the shitter again. The setting? Subway restaurant, this one in a Shell gas station about ¼ mile from where I work. I go to this Subway at least 3 times a week because it’s quick, cheap, fairly healthy, and blah, blah.
Today I stopped by after getting an oil change in the company car (a red Chevrolet Cobalt that is welcome to go to hell at any time. Piece of shit.) Jiffy Lube was lightning-fast and I was in and out of there in 15 minutes. Awesome. So, into the Subway and I can be back to work in 45! *hear the sound of the record scratch and the music stops*
First, there are 5 people in from of me in line. OK, shake it off. Deep breath. Next, neither Lisa nor Kristy, the two awesome fast sandwich makers are working. Rachel is working, who is pathetic at making sandwiches and usually just rings them up while someone else does the dirty work, and this other girl, whose name I still don’t know. She’s OK, but she always cuts the bread too deep and is a very sloppy sandwich maker. She’s really tiny, like 4’10” tiny, and sort of reminds me of a short version of a sociopathic former boss of mine. Tangent.
Anyway, after bumbling and fumble-fucking around with a few sandwiches, Rachel decided that all she could handle was the register, leaving the Tasmanian Devil to do everything else in the store. Teamwork. The woman 2 up in line from me was there with her 11 or 12 year-old daughter, and Taz politely asks her canned question: "what can I get started for you?" This implies that someone further down the line will finish making the sub, which was not true today. So this woman looks Taz right in the eye and says:
“I want the five dollar foot long.”
Subway, of course, has a discount on their sandwiches through the end of this month, so EVERY SANDWICH ON THE MENU (almost) IS FIVE DOLLARS.
Taz, in utter disbelief that anyone could be this fucking stupid, took a different angle and asked :
“What sandwich would you like?”
“The five dollar one”
The guy in front of me looked back at me and we smirked meaningfully at each other.
“Yes, but which sandwich?”
At this point, my retarded line mate, clearly the proud spawn of our former president looked at the case and realizing she had a choice replied: “Oh, Honey Oat!”
Now that the tough choice of bread was over, she still had to choose a sandwich, and I’m quite sure I saw the face of Taz twitch as something burst in her head.
“OK, Honey oat is the bread. What type of sandwich do you want? They are all 5 dollars.” Twitch.
“I WANT CHICKEN!” Her child piped up. “No, I’m not eating chicken.”
Then a further clusterfuck ensued as they picked 2 types of cheese, and had each half of the sandwich made up separately. No, I don’t want pickles on my half. Well I want pickles. Just put the pickles on my half. Just put pepper on my half, etc., so Taz had to remember whose cheese went with whose tuna twat.
When they got to Rachel so they could ring up the purchase, she asked stonewashed genes here what type of sandwich she got. Her reply? You guessed it
“I got the five dollar foot long.”