Except I totally kinda am.
The guy that just made my sandwich at Subway (footlong Spicy Italian on Italian Herbs and Cheese! Represent!) was missing 3 1/2 fingers. Seriously all touchin my food and all that! Except he had gloves on, one hand of course only being occupied by barely enough fingers to keep the glove in place. Which, that’s fine and dandy. Fingers shmingers. As long as my footlong gets made to order and tastes like the bomb Subway sandwiches I’ve grown to almost become aroused by, then go ahead and make the damn thing with your feet, if you can do it. I just request that you wear foot gloves.
But my visual issue I had with this man went far beyond a lack of piggies. He also had a pantload of (assumedly knife) scars across the back of his hand (I also assume this is how he lost his fingers. I imagine a story of a knife fight with a monkey on a yacht in international waters.), and a tattoo on his wrist that was the Roman numeral 6 (perhaps how many monkeys he killed for his lost fingers). That was everything I caught while glancing at his left arm and hand. Then, while he was toasting my sub, I noticed the red jacket he was wearing was one that said “Black Panthers” across the back. This is very much a white dude. As white as me, if not whiter. REFERENCE POINT: I’m white as can be. Does “Black Panthers” have a different connotation than I was told? Is it now a brand of clothing for ironic ghetto white folks? Or is he just still really upset? You have to have a pretty visible and frequently validated hood pass to pull that off, I imagine. I couldn’t do it. That’s for sure. But I probably also couldn’t get into an actual knife fight with a monkey. If I did, I’d probably just give him a fake knife. Like he’s gonna know the difference. IT’S A MONKEY. Monkey’s don’t know stabby knives from fake knives.
But aside from the international monkey fight association (IMFA), I don’t know. I got a vibe from this guy that I couldn’t quite shake. It’s like when you see a prisoner in prison and still think he’s capable of eating your brain straight out of your skull, no matter how many bars are between you and the psycho. It was kinda like that! Except he was super friendly and the sandwich came out perfect. So, judging his book by his cover? Flawed. Don’t do that. Because who knows who really is a great sandwich maker at their part-time job at Subway? That’s exactly why I don’t get in fights with strangers or walk to the other side of the street to avoid thugs. I want to get to know them. Figure out what kind of Subway sandwiches they like to make best. Find out what Subway they work at. Go in. Enjoy a delicious toasted sub. Attempt to not look at their missing fingers too much. Or.. hell… maybe ask them about it? I haven’t figured out which way to go with that part yet. I guess it depends on if they like to talk about their history with the IMFA or not.
Lover of the Sub-er,
Scott
(I’d like to take partial credit for the brilliance that is Scott Cassidy‘s Workspace Oddity…after all, I think I kind of annoyingly pushed him toward creating a tumblr and giving it a quirky work-related name, but alas, I cannot. All the witty words and subsequent laughs created are all him. So I guess all I can do is send a sincere thank you for his sharing this fun piece with us. Thanks, very much Scott! -Carla)
Recent Comments