Subway. Yeah…goddamnit.

Well, had a great customer in front of me in line at Subway yesterday.  Sometimes you have these days where you go in and you just know it’s going to be a worse time.  “Worse” because, let’s face it, you’re eating Subway alone as a meal to keep you alive a few more hours.

A good way to know that the horrible woman, let’s call her Brenda, is in front of you in line.  She looked like an awful Brenda.  Brenda is standing there holding a big sheet of coupons.  Folks, let me tell you something about coupons.  Unless it saves you over three dollars, it’s not a coupon.  It’s just a miniature billboard you’re carrying around in your wallet.  And if you for some reason have to use a coupon, at least take the time to separate it from the big sheet of coupons at home.  AND don’t pull out a coupon with a 40-cent value out of a Coach bag.  Maybe if you just carried your shit coupons in a Safeway bag like the rest of us you wouldn’t need that piece of shit.  Pink and brown together?  Great.

Now, here’s another tip, Brends.  When you’re waiting in line, that’s a really good time to think of what you might want to get.  You weren’t TELEPORTED to the front of a Subway line and then some asshole from the future puts a gun to your head and says, “Order.  Now, bitch!”  You have all the goddamn time in the world to decide between the turkey and the ham, which is just red turkey paper.  And when the guy asks what you want on a sandwich, one that is apparently for a husband that either made the worst mistake of his life or doesn’t actually exist but you just pretend you’re bringing him home a sandwich so that everyone thinks you’re less shitty, you don’t tell the guy, “Um, I think he likes…”  The Subway guy cannot help you.  If you’re married to someone, it’s okay to not remember whether they prefer trucks to cars, Jack Daniels to Jim Beam, but you should at least have SOME idea on what the man likes on a goddamn sandwich.

And finally, you fuck, when the guy says, “Do you want any drinks with that?” And you say, “What do you have?”   WHAT DO YOU HAVE!  What the fuck do you think they have?  If leaning slightly to one side didn’t upset your balance so that the tears you’re holding back would come spilling from your eyes, you would be able to reach every drink possible.  And what would they have that would convince you?  Every place has the same shit.  Okay, if you’re confused by the Vault energy soda, which is just relabeled Mellow Yellow, I can see that.  But don’t fucking ask the guy what they’ve got.  Ever.