Wednesday, January 4, 2006


This is the type of shit that pisses me off:

I get to Subway (this one is Indian-owned, like the one near my apartment) and I stand behind a black girl with a wide ass that is ordering a sandwich. She’s being very short and bossy with the woman (bordering on rude, but not yet). I’m standing back there thinking, “Why does she have be so rude and attitudy?”

But I say nothing. The other Subway woman sees me and asks what I want.

“What can I get for you sir?” in that accent that Ghandi uses in that movie

“I’ll have a-” and she’s turning back to do something else, outside of hearing-me range. So I stop.

She lazily does whatever she needs and comes back. She’s fat, and looks like what Chris Farley would look like if he was Indian and a woman and a boring as hell kind of person. And she asks again:


“I’ll have an Italian BMT, SIX INCHES, ON ITALIAN.” I actually say it loud and slow like that. I know from experience.

She looks at me dead in the eye and blinks, “Huh?”

Which is surprising because the two workers there don’t seem to have the English language down at all, yet this idiosyncratic part of Americana comes off natural as hell.

I get pissed off immediately and repeat the order, feeling like a fool for having felt sympathetic towards her when the black girl was being direct with her.

I pay and leave and, like it always happens with me, I realize what I should’ve done:


“Huh? What?”

“Scuse me ser?”


“Ser, doo yoo want a sanwitch or no?”


And so on, but it’s right next to my work and I know I’ll have to go back at some point and I’m not ready for the consequences of my actions, hilarious though they might sound to me (and probably only me) now.


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