It's typical that my sister and I weren't going to indulge ourselves with food that had gone through the “freezer process.” However, there were three Subway gift cards. We were unsure of how much was on any of them, so just to be safe we grabbed the few and took off. In fact, this was the first time I've been in Subway since September. Correction: this was first time I've ordered something there since August. It wasn't nostalgic or anything. Come to think about it, there's only one person that I would know who would get nostalgia from going back to Subway.
Anyways, Rachel and I walked in and... Oh noes! A line. Yea, there was a line of all things, especially on a Packer game day. I thought it was some sort of bleedin' religion in Wisconsin. Not to mention we were both “cellphoneless.” Boy was that odd, not being able to check the time or actually tweet. Let alone receive updates about the game. It had this feeling of being very isolated from the world. So what better to amuse ourselves than by doing “Seinfeld-esque” humor. Or at least I had viewed it like that. Scratch that, that's probably just how I make small talk.
Rachel and I had this witty banter getting back and forth about the gift cards. “What if all the gifts cards are expired?” I jokingly said. Continuing on this tread Rachel said, “What if all the pin numbers were scratched?” Humorous isn't it? The next best thing was to read the backs of the cards. It said to treat it like cash, and that one could register it online. “Oh here's something: it expires after 36 months, or unless stated otherwise.” “What's ‘or stated otherwise?’” I questioned. Actually I found out, though it’s more of an observation, that the line consisted of only one family. Who knew that the Duggars were in town?
The real obstacle is probably knowing what one wants. I assume it’s like a batter: either it's a swing and a hit or a swing and a miss. Gee, look at me using a sport's reference; it's like I'm growing up or something. Mentally preparing myself for the task ahead, I thought to myself: “Meatball footlong on Italian herb and cheese,” “meatball footlong on Italian herb and cheese,” “meatball footlong on Italian herb and cheese,” over and over in my head. Then the big drop came. It hits you like a brick wall. I couldn't come up with anything but “um.” Believe me, I wasn't acting or anything to make the story any cooler. Maybe that's just a part of our society, where we can't go through the assembly line without saying one “um.”
The rest was pretty straight forward. Well, expect for the bearded virgin sandwich artist. It was as if he massaging the meat, which later turned into molesting it. A little OCD much? Just put the damn meat on the sandwich! Who cares if the meat looks or is comfortable? It's meat, it will be fine. Then this isn't complete without the bearded employee struggling to close the sandwich. It was almost as if it was being difficult or a challenge. During his personal wrestle with sandwich, I had given a classic “Wyrembeck glare.”
Does anyone else find Subway's slogan, “Eat Fresh,” the least bit ironic?
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