This cautionary tale is being noded by me to help stem the horrible tide of sandwich topping co-mingling that is costing patrons of Subway restaurants their very basic rights and freedoms as consumers. I, googol, am a man of very refined tastes. I have also have a pathological hatred of raw green pepper. Cook them and were all friends. Raw, however is a different kettle of fish, or peppers as it were. As per my usual ritual, I head out from my protective cube-like work place in search of food at lunch, that most sacred of breaks. This particular day, I decide that Subway will be the beneficiary of my $8.04 Canadian (thats 1 blue bill, a toonie, a loonie and 4 pennies for y'all Amer'cans) The graceful dance of customer and Sandwich Artist begins: googol: I'll have a footlong turkey on Italian.

Sandwich "Artiste": uh... ok

The bread is prepared, the turkey is liberally applied.
"This lunch will be most satisfying" I predict smugly, contrary to Fates plan.
Now the pivitol question, the ultimate confidence between consumer and company, is asked:

Sandwich "Artiste": Wha you want on dis?

This is where it all falls apart.

googol: Lettuce only please.

Note the polite request, the delicate delivery and the acknowledgment of the Artiste's bond to me as a part of the fellowship of man.
The rest of the story makes me dizzy to recollect. Instead I present a detailed breakdown of the eventual contents of my sandwich:

Lettuce, turkey, italian bread = what I asked for.
1/2 of a hot pepper, 4 pieces of onion, 2 semi circles of black olive, a copious amount of black pepper and

7 big chunks of green pepper. Raw. Mocking me.

After this horrible dissection was concluded and the office looked like a carnivore's worst nightmare, I ate the damn sandwich. It was rich with the taint of the offending particles. I didn't care for it.

Now, seeing as I was traumatised, I set about discovering how all this extra particulate matter entered my unsuspecting sandwich. I set up covert observation post (3rd booth on the left of the door) and watched the "Artiste" practice his obscene art. Cuts bread. moves bread. Applies topping. Sweeps bread over to wrap... wraps up... wait.

Thats not right.

I observe the "sweep" closely. The movement of the bread from the board to the wrapping paper brushes all the toppings that have fallen out of the sandwich directly into the lettuce. Further observation shows the lettuce to be thoroughly contaminated. I leave in disgust, at least pacified to finally know the truth.
So beware my fellow Everythingians: Peppers lurk among the lettuce.