make excellent sandwiches at a reasonable price in pleasant surroundings, the true genius of the place is none of these. If it paid better, or the uniforms
were nice, or I wasn't such an elitist dick, I'd want to work at Subway
- for the simple reason that the opportunities for double-entendre
comment is simply unmatched anywhere else in the world.
"Only a regular size? Can't you take the full twelve inches
"Can I interest you in a meaty six-incher
"Here's your Subway Club Card
. You get one sticker on it for each six inches you have."
"You'll have to wait a few minutes. We're waiting for our six inchers
"Would you like yours a footlong, Sir?"
"I bet you're gagging for some meat between your buns"
You get the idea. Unfortunately, as a mere customer on the other side of the Subway
counter, I am regularly on the receiving end of these comments, ostensibly referring to my sub
preferences, but that cheekily belittle my sexual technique
, and even worse, my girth
The worst thing is that such quickfire comments, that undoubtedly are given out as part of the induction process at Subway, never fail to stun me into silence, or worse still, rattle me to the extent that I go red, mumble some sort of strange chuckle/snort by way of response, look a complete fool in front of the Cute Subway Girl
(TM), and then leave.
It is only when back in the privacy of my own attic
that I think up the wonderful cutting comeback that would have Wiseass Subway Guy
(TM) laughing and earn his eternal respect, while simultaneously winning the heart of Cute Subway Girl
Surely this is the adult equivalent of being insulted in the playground
and being forced to resort to "Well, at least my Dad's not gay
". Having no witty response
whatsoever with which to save your schoolyard status
, you leave sheepishly. Six hours later when you are sobbing in your bed, you come up with the mother of all insults
, but the moment has passed, and you are already known across your entire town as "Gay Dave The Poo-Collector