There's a Subway sandwich shop very nearby where I work. Now that I'm on this stupid health kick, I eat at this Subway with regularity (it turns out the pizza place, burger place and Chinese place don't compliment my diet?who knew?). I've been going for so long, that I am now training the staff.
No joke.
Today, after moseying into Subway for my fourth feeding of the day (being on a health kick is kind of like being a horse, except without all the tasty sugar), I encountered the new Subway Girl and told her I needed a wrap.
“Okay,” she said. “But you have to help me.”
I didn't know just how literal the chick was being. Her name is Megan, as if you give a shit.
As I taught Megan how to place the goods, microwave the chicken and fold the wrap, she revealed to me (all in about seven minutes) that she is living with her parents because she is still recovering from drug addictions that affected her parenting and caused the State of Florida to threaten to take away her child.
And all I wanted was a fucking wrap.
The chick had dark circles under her eyes and looked as if her and sleep weren't on speaking terms.
Anyway, she asked my advice on how best to convince her parents that she deserves to be the sole provider of her little fuck trophy.
“If it were me, I'd focus on getting the state off my back. After that, I guess it's just that old one-day-at-a-time stuff I hear so much about.”
She smiled.
“Thanks,” she said. “You were a big help.”
Now, Mom's always said I'm a people person. And with a counselor for a father and a minister for a mother, I'm sure I inherited the “Tell me about your problem” vibe, but I'm getting a little sick of it.
I don't want to hear about your problem ever again. If you're supposed to make me a sandwich, just make me the damn sandwich. Don't tell me about the trials and tribulations of being a minimum-wage-earning cokehead. I already know them.
And yes, I know that I dress like the calm and rational type of person. That's because my line of work requires it. People in my field have to look like innocent dorks or no one would trust us. And yes, I know I always do my best to say hello and act like I'm in a good mood but the thing is it's just an act. I really don't like you. And I really don't want to hear about your problems.
Oh, and never forget the fat-free-ranch. That wrap tastes like wet pulp without it.