I LOVE Subway… sometimes.
Ask anyone that has ever met me, I am a complete Subway fanatic. I stay up-to-date with their menu, prices, and latest offerings. Although I don’t agree with that asshole, Jared, and his bullshit about how he lost his weight, I do agree with him that eating subway 3 times a day is an awesome idea.
They have something for EVERYONE. They have cold subs, hot subs, big subs, small subs, cheesy subs, salads, wraps, breakfast, apples, cookies, milk; you name it, THEY FUCKING HAVE IT!
With that being said, I CAN’T STAND 80% of the people who eat there.
Seriously, if I’m not stuck behind the soccer mom with a page-long list of different subs for her son’s shitty soccer team, then I’m behind the fatty who can’t decide between double tuna extra mayo, or double steak extra fat. If I’m not stuck behind the secretary buying subs for her entire office of picky haters, then I’m behind the Spanish guy who can’t say “foot long.” The worst is being behind the bitch that waited until it was her turn to figure out what she wanted: “Oh! My turn already?! Oh my goodness… Jesus, it all looks so good! Uhmm… What comes on the cold cut combo?”
Out of the way whore! There are people who understand the concept of ordering who need to eat.
Advice to customers.
First off, figure out EXACTLY what you’re going to have BEFORE you get called! We don’t want to be sitting there for hours while you decide whether you’re going to have honey or Dijon mustard.
Secondly, limit yourself to TWO SANDWICHES. If you can’t remember the order from memory, then it’s too big… or you need to go get addicted to phonics, because you’re a moron. If you’re ordering for a party, call it in ahead of time… like a day prior, so that shit is ready when you get there, and it won’t hold up all the workers. That way, I can be satisfied, which is the ultimate goal, right?
When it’s your turn to order this is how it should go.
Worker: Hi, what can I get for you?
There is no need to banter, and ask her how her day is going; she hates her life just as much as you do, just dive right into ordering. You then state the SIZE and TYPE of bread you want. For example, “Six inch white. Foot long wheat.” Those are acceptable answers.
This is not: “Hi, how’s it going? I’m going to havvveee….. Uh… the uh… Turkey.”
Oh god… shoot this mother fucker in the face. You do this, and then you know what happens? She has to ASK you what kind of bread you’re going to have. Then, since you probably have yet to look down at the selection, you’re going to be scrambling around trying to think:
“The uh… oh yeah… I’ve heard about this, the Italian herbs and cheese.”
So far we’ve wasted about 10 seconds just because you can’t say “Foot long herbs and cheese.” Jesus, my hands are shaking right now typing this.
After you’ve picked your bread, THEN AND ONLY THEN can you tell her what kind of sandwich you will be having. At that point, she will ultimately ask you if you want it toasted. Broken down, this is a simple question: Warm? Or cold? You’ve had food before; do you like it warm, or not warm? Don’t stand there and contemplate whether you should toast your bread, or leave it soft. Promptly tell her what you want so I can order. Thanks.
Next comes the cheese. If you don’t know what kind of cheese you want, then you don’t want cheese at all. NO CHEESE FOR YOU!
Next comes veggies, this is the only time I will allow a little leniency, because at this point, my order will have already been taken and I will have forgotten you ever existed. Life will be good.
Now, I can deal with shitty customers. I’ve been in banks, grocery stores, they’re all infested with morons, it’s not a big deal. But what really chaps my ass is the WORKERS. I’ve been to Subways all over the world, and I’ve probably ran into about 4 that actually did a GOOD job in making my sandwich without me walking them through the process like a toddler.
Every time I order, I feel like I’m trying to teach a little kid how to spell CAT. It’s horseshit.
Advice to workers.
These stories are all true. 100%. Only in the first incident was I alone. If you were here during any of these incidents, leave a comment proving it’s validity. Back to my life:
We came for food. Not your opinions.
Back home at the Subway near my house, there was this fat pimply faced, wad of spermed-on tissues that was always behind the counter. Seriously, he worked 7 days a week; there was no getting around him. The only option would have been to mace him, then go and make the sandwich myself, which would’ve happened… but I left my pepper spray at home on this occasion.
He obviously had never eaten anything that wasn’t covered in butter and mayonnaise, so when I would ask for tomatoes on my sandwich he would make a shitty face, as if I’M the fuckup for LIKING vegetables.
He soon graduated from making faces, to noises.
“Frumph.”
“Yuahh.”
Then from noises to outright fucking comments.
“How can you eat that stuff?”
“Yuck. I hate cucumbers.”
He also had a HUGE lisp, which pissed me off even more.
I would ignore him, because I was so close to the exit sign and I tend to make it a habit to get kicked out of places, and didn’t want to add this establishment to my list of “Places I am banned from”. But one day he drove me to an outburst. I asked for a little bit of oil; so he, being the comedian he is, put a tear sized drop of oil on my sandwich. He then laughed:
SpermLisp: Is that good enough?
Me (exasperated): Cummon man, just fucking put oil on my sandwich so I can get out of here.
He then proceeded to squirt a SHIT LOAD of oil on my sandwich. As you’ll find out in later stories, I kind of snap when people BLATANTLY don’t get my order correct.
Me: What the FUCK man?? You fucking retard. I said a “little” not “the whole bottle”. I’m not eating that shit now. Make me another sandwich.”
SpermLisp: This one’s fine. I didn’t put that much on. (Lisp. )
Me: New. Sandwich! (I said, through clenched teeth.)
He just stood there, with this look on his face. You know that look that someone gives you when they know they’re about to get their ass beat, but aren’t going to fight back, because their mom raised them improperly and made him watch Oprah while sewing himself a new sweater when he was growing up?
Well, he gave me that look. It’s the same look that someone gets when you knock their glasses off their face, and they can no longer properly see.
I stormed out, knocking over a napkin holder on the way out.
Be able to communicate. Know your products.
At another Subway in my town, I had this Spanish lady making my sandwich, who didn’t speak a lick of English by the way. I don’t have anything against Spanish people, but maybe learn a little English if you’re going to be working in customer service?
Me: Do you know how to make the Chicken Florentine Flatbread sandwich?
She gave me a blank look.
Her: Shekin?
Me: Of course you don’t… why would you… OK go grab that bread back there…
For all you that might leave me comments saying I’m racist, and to treat people with respect: Die. Because that would be like me going to Mexico, and when one of them asks me for a taco in Spanish, I stare at them and go, “Hotdog. Hamburger. Baseball.”
She had successfully made my entire sandwich, and we were on to one last item… Vinegar.
Me: OK, now…(I felt like I was speaking to a child,) I want the vinegar, the one right there… the red stuff.” I pointed and everything.
She picked up a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT BOTTLE and held it up for approval.
“Dis?” she said.
“No. VIN-E-GAR. That’s vinaigrette. Put that down!”
She held it up, with a blank look.
“NO! PUT THAT DOWN!” Now it felt like I was talking to an animal.
She turned the bottle upside down, right above my sandwich.
“Lady! Don’t you fuckin-” She then proceeded to squirt astronomical levels of vinaigrette on my sandwich.
“What the FUCK! Why did you do that? New sandwich! Can we get someone who speaks English to come out here? Where’s your manager?”
My friends I was with convinced me that it might be good and to not make a scene and eat it.
“Fine. I’ll eat it, but scrape some of that shit off. You trying to give me a heart attack lady? Use that knife to scrape it off… there you go…”
Don’t argue if you don’t know what you’re talking about.
The one by my house in Massachusetts is usually pretty good. But half the time, I get accosted and questioned by this scraggly hair, Olive Oil looking girl who thinks she knows something about anything because she is the day manager at a Subway.
Me: I want the red onions.
Olive Oil: You mean purple?
I swear to god she said this.
Me (annoyed): What? No. Red. Red onions.
Olive Oil (condescending): Well… they’re purple.
She at this point has STOPPED making my sandwich, and is battling with me on the name of these things.
Me (livid): OK. Regardless of their color… they are red onions. Why are we arguing? You know what I want, just go ahead and make it happen.
OO: What else would you like?
Me: Jalapenos.
Now, I’m from California, she’s from shitty New England; who do you think is going to know more about hot peppers? Me? Or this girl, who probably still has manual roll down windows, and sleeps on her friend’s couch watching Nascar?
OO: You mean the Hots?
She thinks these things are called “Hots”.
Me: What? Seriously?? No… the jalapenos.
OO: These are hots.
Me (snapped): Jesus, what is with you? Do you call all candy, sweets?! Do you call potato chips, salts? No, they’re called jalapenos, put them on my sandwich, and be generous… my god, this isn’t vegetable trivia.
The best part about Subway is you can be a dick to these people, and you don’t have to worry that they spit in your food.
Be able to communicate. Know your products. (Wait… You already- I know I said that, but it can’t be over emphasized enough!)
I went to the mall with my friend and his wife. (Hi Christin!) At the food court, we divided into two groups: Subway eaters, and Taco Bell eaters. I was in the Subway group with my friend’s wife, and he was in the TB group. Little did I know… I would soon be in the TB group.
I walk up, there are 3 girls working behind the counter: 1 older lady, who didn’t speak any English (what a shock), another older fat lady, and a younger girl who was probably still in high school; I immediately knew this wasn’t going to turn out well.
Her: What you like?
Me (skeptical; on edge): Do you guys have the veggie patty?
Her: Veggie Patty.
Me: Yes… veggie patty. Do you guys have it?
Her: Veggie Patty… (she turns to the other girls standing around with their thumbs in their ass) Veggie Patty? (Then turns back to me) Ok. Veggie Patty.
I took that to mean, “Cook this man up a veggie patty, while I fix the rest of his sandwich up.” But I’m John MacGregor, life isn’t easy.
She made my sandwich, with all the vegetables I wanted; she put on all the toppings (minus the veggie patty) and then looked up at me with a smile and a shrug, asking me if this was good.
Me: Yeah, that’s it… just put the patty on and we’ll be all set.
She starts folding up my sandwich.
Me: Woah… hold it, Veggie patty, slap that on top.
Her: Veggie Patty…
Me: Right… So… make it happen.
She starts folding the sandwich up again!
Me (voice raised): NO. Listen, put the veggie patty on there!
Her: Veggie patty.
Me: Seriously?! Just… I want the patty!
At this point the two other girls stopped talking about MTV and came over to see what the problem was.
High school girl: What’s the problem?
Me: I asked for a veggie patty and she won’t put it on.
HSG: We don’t have the veggie patty. (All condescending and shit, like I DIDN’T ask 5 times.)
Me: Well, she said it over and over again. I figured you guys did. I seriously asked her at every stage of my order.
HSG: Well, she’s new here.
Me: Regardless… there’s no patty.
HSG: Because WE. DON’T. HAVE. IT!
I couldn’t believe SHE was angry now. I should’ve squashed her right then and there, but I was hungry, and wanted to abort the Subway mission.
Me: Cool. We’ll then you can have that shit. Cause I’m not eating it.
HSG: What?! You’re not going to eat this now??
Me: Are you kidding me? You’re missing the key ingredient, bummer for you.
HSG gives me a shocked look, like I’m the first person to ever turn down a made sandwich. Maybe I am actually, I’ve never heard of someone doing such a douchey thing before… oh well.
HSG: Are you REALLY not going to eat this??
Me: Listen… No veggie patty… NO SALE!
I turned on my heels and joined the Taco Bell group. Apparently, she gave it to some guy who was digging through the garbage… I’m surprised he didn’t throw it in her face.
I HATE Subway… sometimes.
Author: John MacGregor
