Saturday, June 28, 2008

Welcome to the 21st Century, Lady

You know how certain situations can just smack you back into reality. Moments that grab you by the nads and scream: "Look, dude...stop worrying about your damn life. You don't have it so just met a complete freak-o that obviously has it a lot worse than you. So keep your chin up. Oh...and try trimming some of that grey hair off your balls. It isn't attractive."

Do you ever have those moments? Thanks to Subway and my first grey hair on my sack, I had that exact experience yesterday.

(As a sidebar, this post has nothing to do with grey hair in my nether regions, really. It's just something that kind of happened and was on my mind while I was writing this post. So, if you want to keep reading without the fear of having to hear about the fact that I have salt and pepper balls, please continue.)

The past two weeks, I have been STRESSED OUT. Work up to my eyes...and I can't see my way through. I have been dreading every day because I cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel.

One thing I do when I get stressed like this is eat. Why not make a bad situation worse? I am human after all...and we are all about destroying ourselves in the name of liberty and because we like to control how out of control we are. Luckily, I am trying to "eat my way to happiness" in a somewhat healthy way right yesterday, Subway was going to be my den of gluttonous, pseudo-contentment.

I walk in to Subway, and there is a cast of humorous people just waiting to be written about.

Subway Girl #1 -- Break Girl: She is on break, and slovenly eating a meatball sub right next to where people are ordering. I understand that it is a mandated state law that you are given lunch breaks, but should you be horking down your sandwich right next to where I am ordering? I swear to God, I heard Little Ms. Oink-Oink before I saw her. I had entered with the idea of maybe "making myself happy" with a meatball sub, but as I watched Snorty McGee lick her fingers clean of marinara sauce, I decided to change my mind.

Subway Girl #2 -- The Manager: This was obviously the "head" Subway chick. She got to handle the money, and she was also in charge of the bread oven. This must have been a recent promotion because GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL, she was flaunting it. She was sauntering back and forth from the bread oven to the back, and no one was going to speed her up. Not one time during my stay did she grace me with eye contact. When I paid her at the end, she gazed over at the bread oven, longingly. My money was no good for her...she had bread to make and other people to ignore.

And last, but not least, my favorite. Subway Girl #3 -- Freak-Out Girl: Freak-Out Girl was one of those people that you just look at and you instantly either want to just give them a big ol' hug and tell them everything is going to be ok...or, you want to grab them by the shoulders and yell: "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? JUST CALM THE FUCK DOWN."

For your information, I did neither of these.

Here is the following conversation that took place between Subway Girl #3 and me. Keep in mind that during this conversation, there was one customer in front of me, no customers behind me, and three Subway Sandwich Artists there to assist us (granted, one was on break shoving food down her throat).

While Freak-Out Girl is frantically trying to finish the sandwich of the guy in front of me, she whined: I'm sorry sir. I'll be right with you.

I had been standing there for only ten seconds when she said this to me, so I was a little surprised by this statement. I responded: Um..ok. No rush.

We are going through our post-lunch rush, she pontificates out loud.

I look behind me, there is no one there. I look to my right, and I find a sea of marinara on Break Girl's face, and I look back in front of me, and I see the only other customer just standing there waiting for his sandwich to be finished being made. The Manager is simply making bread very, very, VERY slowly. Um...ok. I'm in no hurry.

She somehow manages to finish the other guy's sandwich, and then it's my turn.

Me: I notice you have a "Spicy Italian Sub." What makes that spicy?

Her: Short, curt, and oddly rude: has pepperoni and salami.

Now I think to myself this is an answer to a question...but this is not the answer to MY question (Thanks, D). I let out a little laugh...and decide to let this go.

Me: OK...I think I'll just go for the Black Forrest Ham on Wheat.

Her: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Very pained. Overly pained. We are all out of wheat.

I look at the manager who has been making bread and is still making bread. She won't look over at me...and I can tell...SHE HAS BEEN MAKING THE WRONG BREAD.

Me: about Italian Bread.

She gets this bread out, cuts it open, and opens the "ham" compartment. Then, and I shit you not, she stares at the ham in the compartment for 30 seconds. I'm watching her look at the ham, frozen...and I wonder if she has gone into some sort of epileptic episode. She then cries out: WHERE IS THE BLACK FOREST HAM?

I hold in a laugh, and the manager, in the middle of now making wheat bread, says: It's right there. You're looking at it.

Freak-Out Girl: That's ham. Where is the Black Forest Ham?

Manager: They are the same thing.

And then, for the next minute or so, I get to listen to Freak-Out Girl have the following conversation with herself. This is NOT an embellishment:

Black Forrest. Why do they even call it Black Forest? Things have really changed since I worked at Subway in Iowa, boy. Black forest? Black FOREST??? Things really have changed. Why don't they just call it ham? Subway in Iowa was so different than this. California. Black Forest? Ham is ham, you know. When I want ham, I'll just call it ham. Things are so different now. Black Forest Ham. Stupid

On and on and on she went.

It was during this monologue, though, that I thought to myself that maybe things aren't so bad. Maybe the things I was worrying about weren't such a big deal after all. I mean, I know that Black Forest is a type of if nothing else, I had THAT going for me.

So I left Subway, with my sandwich filled with Black Forest Ham...and I also left with a smile. I was going to eat, which would continue to feed into my self-destruction and misguided attempts at making myself happy through finding comfort in food, but, more importantly, I laughed my ass off at Freak-Out Girl all the way home.

What a fucking weird-o.

Friday, June 20, 2008

A Triathlete's Guide to the English Language

No, I haven't written in awhile. I'm glad we got that out of the way.

As long as I am going to blog, I thought I would help some of my fellow triathletes out. I have noticed time and time again the past few months that a lot of people don't know how to correctly speak about their work out activities.

For example, the following statements are wrong:

I haven't ran for a few days.
I have swam a mile before.

We unfortunately still have this thing called the past participle in English...if you choose to use it or not is really up to you. In case you were curious:

The verb run is conjugated: run ran run and
The verb swim is conjugated: swim swam swum.

I know you don't care...but I just thought I would let you know. So in the future try "haven't run" and "have swum" on for size.

Nothing is sexier than correct grammar.