Thank Goodness it was Me

For a few weeks I've been staying with a friend in a neighboring city, helping her on the property where she lives. Another guy and I have been cutting down trees, trimming this and that, clearing out brush and what not. Definitely far from my normal apron-wearing duties, but it's good to step out of the box sometimes.

With intense work under the sun comes hunger. Generally we slap together some sandwiches, but sometimes we'll make the long trek into town (yes, it's a long trek, the kind of distance where you hope not to have forgotten anything at the grocery store) and pick up burritos or whatever. This time around we hit a Subway (can't beat a $5 footlong).

Having been a Sandwich Artist for a number of years in a similarly set up deli, I'm usually much more polite and empathetic to the woes of Subway workers. First of all, they always look miserable. If you notice, when you walk in the door the employees are obligated to welcome you. It's never jovial. It's always a bland, boring, instinctive, "Welcome to Subway." It sounds like someone let the air out of their personalities.

My coworker and I enter. I notice immediately there are only two other people in the shop, eating at a table in the corner. There's a heavy-set gal with bug eyes behind the counter doing some menial task. "Welcome to Subway," she croaks.

"Hello," I say.

A second girl emerges from the back. She's equally-sized as Bug Eyes but has platinum blonde hair, definitely not from Mother Nature. "Hello," she says mechanically.

My coworker proceeds to order, as do I. Within 30 seconds the girls are bustling about, smiling, seemingly enjoying themselves. My coworker and I are joking with them, trying to be lighthearted about everything. It was a good two-minute process. A third girl emerges from the back, looking serious and firm, quite managerial. She couldn't have been older than 22. A few exchanges between the girls are made, but nothing out of the ordinary.

The couple sitting in the corner of the restaurant get up and leave behind us. When they are out the door, Serious says, "And goodbye to you, motherfuckers."

Dead silence.

It was like someone had said the President had been killed. It was eerie. Blondie and Bug Eyes, in usinon, say, "Serious!" trying not to laugh, and clearly embarrassed.

Serious puts her hands to her mouth in shock, as if the word 'motherfucker' just slipped out. I can guarantee you this: she knew exactly what she was saying and knew very well my coworker and I were standing right there. There was no missing us; we were two feet away. I'm not guessing -- I know this from experience. I, too, have insulted customers within earshot of other customers. It's our way of saying, "Watch it, or we'll talk about you behind your back, too."

"I didn't mean you guys!" Serious says to me and my coworker.

I shrugged it off. "Oh jeez, we don't care," I reassure her. "We'd only hope you'd have the decency to wait until we left before you call us that." I chuckled to make light of it. It was pretty funny, but she was lucky it was me as the customer, and not someone ready to pick up a phone and call Subway Corporate Headquarters to gripe and groan about the foul language.

"Are those people assholes or something?" I ask, referring to the motherfuckers.

Blondie, wrapping my sub, says, "Nah, they're just here every day. They always want the same thing. They always want us to turn down the music, make a fresh pot of coffee. They want a fresh pot every time."

"And they never say thank you," Serious adds.

"Well I worked for Substandard for fifteen years, so I sympathize."

"Oh my God," Bug Eyes says, genuinely shocked. "Fifteen years?"

"Yep," I say.

"I hope you were at least a manager," Serious says.

"Sort of. Whatever the case, I'm not there now, but I totally understand how you feel about customers like that. My store had one lady who always complained it was too cold. 'Can you turn off the air conditioner?' she'd ask us. My response was always the same: 'Lady, we're working hard back here, that's why the AC is on. I'm not going to sweat through my pants just because you're too cold.'"

This sent the Subway girls into a tiny fit of laughter. Obviously they needed to get that kind of tension out of their systems. I know the feeling. It's nice when someone comes into your place of employment and they know how it is. We shouldn't have to be serious all the time.

There isn't enough money in the world that should force someone to fake a smile 8 hours a day. It's unnatural. I mean, think about it: Do you think you could cry for 8 hours a day if you were paid enough? I don't think so.