Glory Days: Savaging the Subway

One day, ten years ago, I was bored.

It amazes me that boredom exists in increments of more than about fifteen seconds. I truly believe it is a human invention, the result of taming an environment so that it is no longer a continued process of attempting to survive any number of things that are simultaneously trying to kill us. We now adapt the environment to suit us and not the other way around. Boredom means we can't evolve.

This is besides the point, but this gives me an idea for turning theaters into legal dead zones in the case of people with cell phones and screaming kids. Reposition the exit doors and line the aisles with Slip and Slides.

Anyway, when I get bored I tend to look for a solution and usually find it. So on this day, ten years ago, I called Subway and set up an interview.

I showed up wearing a button-down shirt and tie and slacks. I selected a firm handshake, but not the typical Los Angeles handshake of the insecure, all trying to crush a man's index and pinkie knuckles as close together as possible. No, this was firm but sure, two shakes and you're done. The manager thought I must have been in the wrong place.

We sat down and he asked why I chose Subway. I looked him dead in the eye and said "I want to make some RUDE MOTHERFUCKING SANDWICHES." I said, my eyes a bit too wide.

He blinked a few times, rapidly. Not what he had been expecting. He opened his mouth to speak again, but I pressed on. "I want to make... I want to make the RUDEST sandwich ever! I'm talking like such a good fucking sandwich the customer bites into it, smiles this beautiful smile, and says 'That is a GOOD FUCKING SANDWICH, man!' I want to take like this bread, right? And then I want to put stuff on it and then bake it for ten seconds and ask if they want to make it a combo so fucking hard that they see God!"

I started to rock back and forth in the outdoor metal chair, making a racket while I stabbed the table with my finger to emphasize each word. I might have been spitting a bit, I can't remember. I was certainly working myself into a faux lather. It was at this point or perhaps slightly after that the manager's head wound up in his hands as he just waited for me to stop screaming.

"I have this one idea for a sandwich, right? It's got this meat and cheese, and then some kind of sauce! SAUCE! Then right before I serve it up, I bake it by tossing it at a precise angle over the sun! Then I punch Jared in the heart so hard that he dies!"

I was breathing heavily. I stopped talking. I was ready for my free drink or a ride in a cop car. Instead the manager rallied beautifully. He was red, but I couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. I'd have hated to play poker against him. He just asked "Is there... anything else you enjoy?"

I pretended to think about this for a second, then said "I kinda like eating sandwiches."

There was a long silence. It was over, and the poor guy was looking for a way to get out without the crazy man stabbing him directly in the neck, I guess. I stood up. He stood up. I held out my hand. He took it. We shook. I said "So when am I gonna know?"