I wake up at 11am with the worst attitude. I refused to get up realizing that whatever I do now will in no way affect my future. 1120 am rolls by and I still couldn't move a muscle in my body unless it was to get more comfortable in my lousy mattress. The only reason I got up was because I was walking to work and was about to be 20 minutes late to work, and on the other side of my treacherous journey was a helpless thing that was going to need my help in 10 minutes. I, still, couldn't care less. I take my time with getting dressed and putting my lazy makeup on. Some poorly drawn eyebrows and a tightline on my eyes that won't fade unless I cry a river. I walked upstairs hoping my aunt would be up and running, she wasn't. That didn't stop me from calling her on my phone begging for a ride to somewhere I didn't wanna be for 6 pathetic hours just to be helping old people with wretched attitudes and families with children/teens who were terribly undecided.
As I walked into Johnathan's Lighthouse, I swallowed my still developing pride to get behind a counter to make sandwiches for unappreciative lazy people just to earn my lousy income for the month. I saw Angelica delivering a radiating, warm smile that could either make someone feel warm or incredibly uncomfortable. Whatever the meaning, she was always such a pleasure to work with. Walking behind the counter I see an older woman at the register with an unforgettable face that I could only interpret as regret, but I didn't care. I've never been scared of returning the same attitude to those who feel entitled to complain about their own stupid choices.
I didn't feel any need to rush with her 5 subs, it was a Sunday. I could've cared less for whatever type of hurry these people were in. Angelica and I finished with her 50 dollar order; I honestly didn't even want to tell the lady with the same face of shame she had on the entire ride the price of her order because two of her sandwiches were literally just bread, ham, and cheese. Common household ingredients. It amazed me that the price didn't even phase her. She just rolled with it. I was hoping for a reason to argue, but I guess she wasn't the one.
After the initial rush, Angelica tells me
"It's gonna be dead all day, I think that was our last and only rush" I thought,
Aww, Angelica. My poor misguided hopeful Angelica....
...I wish I could say the same...
I knew that wasn't the last rush, no chance. Sunday funday, Sunday is family day. These poor people come in ordering sandwiches for the whole pack knowing damn well the kids are gonna complain, some grown family member is gonna whine about not having enough black olives, there's gonna be stale, sloppy leftovers. A shame, a family travesty, really. At that point, it's not our fault they spent 50 something dollars on sandwiches when they could've made something more fulfilling for less than 50 dollars. I never felt bad for them, not a minute since I started working at Subway a year ago. They'll wait in line for an hour just to eat their sandwich in less than 5 minutes leaving them with a feeling of shame; they love being overcharged for some bread and ham.
I could just see them in my head.
Zombies in search of plastic tasting cheese and stale bread. The look of desperation and boredom disguised by hunger in their eyes. Their brains begging for some type of stimulation, some type of minimal human interaction with a savory reward waiting for them at the end.
The look of fake confidence tends to mask their faces more often than not, but they love to be up someone's ass about the difference between a chicken bacon ranch with grilled chicken instead of the rotisserie chicken. They can't seem to understand the difference between a pre-set sandwich and a preference.
May the lord take them into his hands and bathe them with at least an ounce of receptiveness.
I looked out into the distance as the battleground filled up with much needed calmness and quiet. Everyone was standing at their post waiting, paranoid, about the next hoard of zombies and what their demands will entail. I heard Angelica in the back, banging and smashing all the cambros in a means to catch up to the debt these greedy bastards threw us in. Before I even got the chance to walk to the back to make sure she wasn't ready to fire a bomb in the sink, an older couple appeared at the line. I swore I just turned my head once and when I turned back they were at the counter, drooling, fantasizing about the wet, glorious mess of an American dream they were about to ingest. A perfect couple, a match made in heaven I assure you. She was wearing a shirt that was probably a hand me down from her infant niece, granddaughter, or even great granddaughter; you can never tell with these Caucasians. It had the american flag in all of its glory spread on the entire shirt with an american eagle showing off its majestic wings over it. Her boyfriend was wearing a simple white, musty wife beater with a big squidbillies type baseball cap that was covered in the american flag as well. Such a heartwarming couple. I love America. I got over to the end to start their sandwiches and before I could ask, she began with her order. All this confidence, yet I still had to ask her about three times a very simple question,
"What kind of bread do you want?"
She's been here before she knows how this game is played, I don't know how she's forgotten already. She finally tells me she wants regular ol' american bread; Is there even such a thing? Maybe she thinks shes at a hot-dog joint. We don't have american bread but I knew what she wanted and I wasn't gonna waste my time by playing stupid. I asked her another 5 times which sandwich she wanted and every time she told me she somehow said it lower than last time. Thankfully, she gets annoyed and speaks up like a toddler who doesn't know what she wants but is just deciding to roll with it. Chicken Teriyaki, yum. Grilled chicken smothered in Sweet Onion sauce. Her boyfriend knew the game and he knew I was serious about making these sandwiches. He spoke to me respectfully when ordering his sandwich, like a soldier waiting for orders from his higher up, and even used ma'am. I guess my starved bulldog appearance demands respect even when I'm not expecting it. It went pretty smoothly after that, but I don't think his girlfriend liked me very much, her attitude remained. She never said thank you; my heart ached how dare she.
After clearing hoard after hoard, I finally made a sandwich for one of the regulars that I didn't actually hate. He's an older black man who always has the same order, rain or shine, it was always the same; a six inch american club on wheat with three oatmeal cookies. The reason I liked him was because he wasn't tight and tense all the time. He spoke to me like an actual person instead of just a fast food employee, which should be the minimal requirement but old people were born in hatred and never knew there was more to life than this impossible idea of achieving individualism. Anyways, he made it worth it. He laughed at my intended jokes and my unintended jokes. Making people laugh feeds my narcissism. " What are your plans for the holiday? Are you off tomorrow?" he asked me.
I was honestly confused, I am not used to this american way of life, so I asked
"What holiday is tomorrow?"
he began to laugh, like I just dropped the meanest fart joke ever.
He told me it was memorial day,
"Oh, true", was all I could say, I swore this memorial day holiday had already happened but I guess it's a yearly thing, welp who could've known.
I was just relieved he didn't feel a need to lecture me about all the fallen soldiers, although I definitely know he left with a gut wrenching concern for the future generations. Not my problem, I still made him laugh.
Ever since I started I've never been able to figure out how a Subway on the side of a gas station manages to get more sales than the entire gas station on any average day. The owner of the gas station, who was also the Subway manager, told me the only reason the building was still standing, financially I mean, was because of Subway. That thought keeps me up at night.
