I went to Subway today and as soon as I walked in the door, I knew I should have turned around and left. There were literally fourteen people standing in line.
The line wrapped around the corner from where the first Sandwich Artist takes your order. I was person number eight past that corner.
As I contemplating leaving when the Indian Owner/Sandwich Artist #1 asked the lady directly in front of me, “And for you ma’dam?”
Wow, I thought, this guy’s got his shit together, and that’s the only reason I stayed. Well that, and the fact that I was playing hookey from work.
During my lunch break, which I don’t officially get, I went to talk to my tattoo artist whose shop is about 15 minutes away from my work. I normally wouldn’t do this, but I knew that I had to stay late to help with some things, so I figured I just wouldn’t turn in an overtime slip and we’d call it even.
I had already been gone from work for about an hour when I walked into Subway. And even though I know no one would miss me, I was really considering leaving right when the owner/sandwich artist #1 said, “And for you sir?”
I ordered a Sweet Onion Teriyaki Chicken sandwich and followed the rest of the cattle line to sandwich artist #2. Who by the way, was a dead ringer for the long brown haired kid who played Mitch Kramer, the nose-touching tortured freshman, in Dazed and Confused.
This kid might have been Sandwich Artist #2 to these guys, but to me he was Mitch Kramer—The Mayo Kid. He put more mayonnaise on a sandwich than anyone I’ve ever seen.
Normally a Sandwich Artist will put on one stream of mayo straight down the middle, then ask, “What else would you like?”
Mitch would grab the bottle, hold it up side down, and then he kicked out his leg like Dave Lee Roth in the Jump video. He then started spraying down thick lines mayo down the center of the sandwich. He did two double swipes—back and forth, then back and forth again—on each of the sandwiches he made. I think he may have even cut the nozzle on the bottle because the white squiggly lines were as wide as magic-markers.
Note to self, no mayo.
The line did move at surprisingly fast pace. The speed of this assembly line of sandwich-making was mainly due to the Mitch the Mayo Kid’s pizzazz. When someone said lettuce, Mitch crammed a whole handful on top of the bread. When someone said onions, Mitch grabbed them with both hands and sprinkled them back and forth like thick falling snow. But when someone said, “Mayo,” you could tell that it just made this kid’s day.
There was a rather large black lady standing in front of me. She was wearing a black tank top with a black and brown printed skirt. Her hair was long and braided and she was about five feet tall and probably four and-a-half feet sideways. She had ordered the Italian sub, which had salami, pepperoni and ham on it.
“What do you want on it?” The Mayo Kid asked.
The lady said, “A little lettuce, extra pickles, thousand island dressing, extra pickles. Oh wait, I said that,” she said as she perused the toppings on the counter and then said, “Oh, and some mayo. Extra mayo.”
This lady was The Mayo Kid’s jackpot, his sandwich score of the day. Mitch sprinkled the lettuce. He then grabbed at least 12 pickles and piled them on. Then the lady said, “Can you give me more pickles than that?”
Mitch grabbed about 20 more pickles and stacked them on. Obviously he had floated off to sandwich Nirvana because he stood there in a daze looking at his condiment counter for a few seconds and then said, “What else did you want with that?”
“Thousand island dressing,” she said, which Mitch applied the same way he did with his mayo in the double-swipe method.
“And extra mayo,” she said.
I think at this point Mitch got an erection. Not that I was looking, but it’s hard not to notice a guy who’s about to make your sandwich shift his crotch. Mitch then did his patented Van Halen kick and almost kicked the owner. He then began spraying the mayo back-and-forth, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. He repeated this process eight times.
This was the most disgusting sandwich I have ever seen. There was at least an inch-and-a-half layer of mayo on top of the half-inch layer of thousand island.
Then the lady said, “Oh and could you put parmesan on that? And some oil too.”
“Looks healthy,” I said.
“That’s the way I like it,” she snapped.
When Mitch finished wrapping her sandwich, he gave her a little nod like a stoic departing sailor saying goodbye to his wife. He then said to me, “What do you want on yours?”
I said, “A little lettuce, and little onions and a little sweet teriyaki sauce.”
I have to say that Mitch showed restraint with my sandwich and made it exactly as I had asked.
“No mayo?” he said.
He looked at me with a disappointed look on his face and I knew he wanted to spray mayo all over the wall, but instead he wrapped the sandwich up and he sent me down the line.
“What do you want on yours?” Mitch asked the semi-attractive lady wearing a red dress standing directly behind me.
“Lettuce and light on the mayo. Light. Real light,” she said.
I watched Mitch only spray one line down the middle like every sandwich artist does at any other Subway when you ask for mayo.
The lady looked to be in her early 30’s. She was talking to her friend, who seemed to be about ten years older than her, and was most likely her co-worker. She was talking about the new red dress she was wearing. “I got it for $30,” she said, “but it’s supposed to be $160. It’s Calvin Klein! And it fits perfectly. I mean look at it. It fits so well. I just had to get it.”
Mitch’s head was down, but his eyes looked up. I watched him look the lady up and down. And when he realized she wasn’t watching him, he sprayed one more line of mayo right down the middle of her sandwich. He then threw the top piece of bread on it and had it wrapped before the lady knew what hit it.
“Thanks,” he said to her, “and see you tomorrow.”
“Ok thanks,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
I’ll take bets that that red dress doesn’t fit by the end of the month.