The Mennonite, the Addict and the Sandwich Artiste

I hope Pea doesn't ever date boys with long floppy hair who are reminiscent of heroin addicts.

I went to Subway today to get a, well, a sandwich.  That part is pretty self-explanatory.  When I walked in, the Manager of the place was teaching several new recruits how to use the cash register.  (It's good to know that someone is hiring these days.)

Being trained were a 16 year-old boy and a 50 year old man.  As I stood waiting for them to acknowledge me, I couldn't help but notice that the 16 year-old had floppy hair.  He was wearing one of those trademark Subway visors, but everything was hidden underneath his wealth of hair except the bill of the visor.  He was tall, gaunt and had bags under his eyes that I usually associate with high school teachers and heroin addicts.

And yes, to answer your question, I have been exposed to heroin addicts before.  Rather, one heroin addict on two separate occasions.  While I was in university I worked at a local mall selling shoes.  I use the term 'selling' rather loosely as I did not sell one pair of shoes in the 4 months I worked there.  When I quit my job just before Christmas, the store manager smiled and skipped away giddily.   Apparently, I was keeping her from reaching a high sales mark for the location and thus her chance at winning a mid-Winter trip to the Caribbean.   

One day at work, a Mennonite came into the store to try on Winter boots.  She couldn't get them up over her calves and I was at a loss for words.  I have never seen that before, or since.  Her calves were bigger than my thighs.  It was impressive.

Anyway, later that day, I spent 45 minutes with a customer who was considering buying a pair of boots.  She was a quirky lady, early-20's, and she kept walking up and down the store in the boots like a model working the runway.  Literally.  She was really considering the boots, and I was eager to make my first sale.  Without warning, she threw off the boots and left the store.  My co-workers then came to me, laughing, and explained that I had spent 45 minutes trying to sell boots to a heroin addict.  Good times.

I later ran into that same addict on my daily walk to school.  She was on the street corner begging for money outside of a bank in freezing weather.  She had on raggedy Chuck Taylors.  Not good times.  She could have used those boots.

Ok, back to ol' floppy hair.  The boy at Subway sees me standing, waiting, and throws on a pair of those Subway see-through gloves to prepare my sandwich.  As he is doing this, the 50 year-old calmly washes his hands, puts on his Subway-standard-issue-see-through gloves, and taps the lad on the shoulder, motioning him to the sink.  I was relieved, because I can only imagine how many times ol' floppy hair had run his gross hands through that disgusting hair, and no pair of see-through gloves can bring back my appetite after that.

The 50-year old proceeded to prepare my sandwich, but floppy hair seemed annoyed.  Boo hoo, you didn't get to sandwich-artiste my sub for me.  Learn basic hygiene loser.

That said, the 50-year old stiffed me on the tuna.  I only got 1.5 scoops worth for a 6 inch sandwich.  Karma is a bitch.  

Nevertheless, I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't date boys with long floppy hair that are reminiscent of heroin addicts.