It happened again. I went to Subway this time. I had been cleaning my room and packing away all of my summer clothes and puling out my winter clothes. I was hot and sweaty. I had taken off my bra because it was gross. My hair was up in a ponytail/messy bun. I was probably wearing no makeup. Oversized, inappropriate t-shirt to wear in public. It was actually my t-shirt from the Fully Loaded Comedy Festival with Bert Kreischer. It wasn’t my first choice but it was the only thing they had in an oversized t-shirt. It has a little smiley face with a beer in one hand and a blunt in the other. I’m not a fan of wearing things that glorify drug use. And yet here I am, wearing the shirt, smelling gross, looking gross as well. To add to the fun I was tired and grumpy, too. I had been cleaning and dragging bins up and down the stairs all afternoon.
So now I’m hungry. I decide Subway sounds good. I offer to buy one for my mom and my son, as well. Picasso asked for 2 foot long sandwiches which I was willing to do.
I get into my car and drive to Subway. Now this particular Subway has a drive thru because they are in the former Burger King building. I happen to love this feature because when I’m smelly and gross and not wearing a bra the drive thru is a wonderful invention. Do you see where I’m going with this?
I pull up, ready to be told they are making sandwiches for their online clients. That didn’t happen. So far, so good.
“How many sandwiches can I make for you?” the sandwich artist asks.
“I am going to need four.”
And this is where we derail.
“Oh, can you come inside? We aren’t supposed to do more than 2 sandwiches in the drive thru.”
What the ever living fuck? They can make me wait for 20 fucking minutes while they make sandwiches for people who aren’t even present but if I need four sandwiches I need to park my car and walk my smelly ass into the restaurant?
Had it not been for the fact that I was buying sandwiches for everyone I would have simply driven off. Instead, I had to pull back out onto the four lane highway, get into the turn lane, and turn back into the parking lot so I could park my car, and walk inside with my smelly armpits and my inappropriate t-shirt and my boobs hanging free. You want me inside? You got me! Enjoy!
I was able to hide my irritability but it did get worse. Picasso likes the Italian Herb & Cheese bread. They had only Italian or wheat. It’s not the end of the world but if you’re going to make me come inside sans bra the least you can do is have the bread my son likes. I’m still not sure if that is a temporary or permanent issue. I’m not really sure I’ll ever find out either because I think I’ve crossed Subway off my list as well. At least the one close by me.
I think this may be Fate’s way of telling me to knock it off with the fast food and get back on low carb. I’m going to go eat a Reese’s peanut butter cup while I think about that.