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2007-10-24 - 12:52 p.m.

Unexpected Encounters

So yesterday I bebopped around running errands in the cold drizzly rain and decided to hop on over to Subway (a.k.a. Bubway) for a sammich. Luckily there wasn't a line, so I scootled up to the counter and placed my order. (Footlong Italian. I mean, footlong cold cut combo on Italian bread. Not that I couldn't eat the former. Heh).

The guy began to prepare my nibs. I recognized him as one of the "good ones": efficient, excellent memory, able to separate the cheese triangles quickly and without difficulty. Let's just say I have wasted too many minutes of my life watching newbie male teenage Bubway workers claw and mangle cheese slices like they're wrestling with opening a new CD, or the clasp of their first girlfriend's bra. Half the time (mid-grimace, which I can't help), I expect them to use their teeth. Sometimes I want to just leap over the counter and say "Here, LET ME DO IT."

Anyhoo, suffice to say, I was relieved to know I had an expert sammich maker in my presence. He's probably the manager, I thought. He was nearly done adding all the veggies, when a girl stepped out from the back and joined in.

Uh oh. This really doesn't require two people. I don't know you. He's got it covered! He's the best. Please, just step away from my sammich.

Then she reached in the bin for the tiniest handful of pickles EVER. Oh no no no. She was clearly clueless about the pickle to inch of bread ratio. I was forced to speak up, which always makes me feel greedy. But 4 pickle slices? You have GOT to be kidding me.

"More pickles please! I really love pickles."

(Oh great, now I sound like a greedy idiot).

She reached back in and sprinkled more 'licious pickles on my sammich. Whew. All is right with the world.

By this time, manager (?) guy had ripped off his gloves, and was getting ready to ring me up. But my sandwich still needed condiments. I asked the girl for spicy mustard and was shocked -- SHOCKED -- when she dabbed on the faintest line. Surely, she'll shake the bottle and double back for a second round. But NO. She began to set the bottle back in its holder. Oh Jesus, C'MON. I was forced to speak up again: "Um, more please!"

Unfortunately, I had to speak up YET AGAIN when she went way too light on the mayo. Dear God, woman. Obviously I'm a girl who likes LOTS OF STUFF.

Finally, the ordeal was over, or so I thought, as she wrapped up my dinner and placed it in the bag. The guy at the register asked me sweetly, "Is that gonna be all, hun?" right as I reached down to grab a bag of chips. I thought Hun? Hmmmm. Is he gay? Then I realized I'd thought the same before about him. Plus, he was way too cute to be straight.

I placed the chips on the counter. "Oh, just this. No drink. Lemme find my Subway card." I dug around in my wallet, presented my frequent Bubway nibbler card to him and my credit card.

As he took my cards, he said "This is the last time you'll see me."

"Huh? What?"

I looked up and locked eyes with him. A beautiful blue color. A bit misty. Sadness there.

"The Indians are taking over," he replied, as if that was supposed to explain things.

I took my cards back (the total was 6.66. It's all for youuuuuuu, Damien!), fumbled with my wallet, completely confused. "What do you mean? The Indians...?"

"The owner sold out. This is my last day. And hers." I looked over at the girl and she nodded.

"Oh...um, is the store going away, or...?" still trying to figure out the exact situation.

"No," he replied. "The store is staying, but we won't be. The owner didn't tell us he sold out until today."

"You're kidding me! That's...awful!" I looked back at him and his eyes were pleading at me for sympathy and understanding.

My mind was buzzing. I'd only seen this guy maybe three times in the last year and he was telling me this as if I was his only friend.

The girl piped up and said "Yeah, we're all out of jobs as of tomorrow. Six of us total. Unemployed. One day notice."

I looked down at my bag on the counter and tried to think of what to say next. I looked back up, eyes darting back between the two. "Geez...I am soooo sorry. I can't believe the owner would do that to you. What a jerk! And...what are you even still doing here? You should walk off the job and close the shop! That's what he deserves!"

The girl replied "Yeah, what's he gonna do, fire us?" She laughed softly, but I knew in that moment they were both gonna stick out the rest of their last shift. Making stupid sandwiches for another four hours while dealing with shock, sadness, anger, and confusion.

Wow. I certainly don't think I could do it. How the owner could spring this on these folks then expect them to finish out their shift? Heartless bastard. Jesus, at least give them a WEEK NOTICE so they could start looking for a new job.

As I collected my things to leave, I felt I needed to give them something...some little piece of advice, perhaps. I mentioned there's a staffing agency across the street, and maybe they'd be able to find something to tide them over. They both seemed thankful for the tip, but I couldn't get the emptiness of her eyes and the sadness in his out of my mind. Shell shocked.

I wished them the best of luck and more apologies (as if it was somehow my fault), walked out and found shelter from the rain, and whatever-the-hell-that-was-back-there, in the comfy confines of my car.

Geezoo. All I wanted was a damn sammich. Wasn't expecting THAT. Then it occured to me that they'd probably launched into the story with every customer who walked in the door that day. Perhaps the next one who walked in would know of some job openings. I hoped so.

And the sandwich? It was very good. Maybe I savored it a bit more, thinking of those two who stuck it out and did the right thing, even though the owner was a complete schmuck.

Or maybe, it was the extra pickles.