Wednesday 7 March 2012

Smiles Cost Nothing. Don't Blame Me For Your Hangover

I had cause to buy a sandwich. Sometimes you do. Sometimes there’s no other choice and some sort of fast food is the answer. I very much like the sandwiches from Subway but the attitude of the woman in there makes me want to shit on the sandwich, toast it up, push in razor blades and ram it through her mouth like a fucking huge dildo of death.

I’m easy enough to see, but no, I was stood there a whole five minutes before she turned around. Why have a fucking buzzer on the door if you aren’t going to use it. She then looked straight through me, and said ‘YES’ in a voice that sounded like I’d just molested her poodle and used it to beat her mother to death. I wish I had.

So I order. She takes out the bread and rips half of one side. Knowing that my eating experience will be ruined by this, (as well as my shirt, which will look like someone has shot his load all over me when I’m covered in fucking mayonnaise) I ask for a different piece of bread. You should have seen the face I got. It was like that piece of bread could have saved the world. It was one fifth of a Jesus special. It could have fed the 714.


It was like I was slitting starving kids throats in front of her and using the blood as makeshift tomato sauce. She then went back to the face with a slapped arse look. I wait for a minute or so, and someone else appears next to me. Poor bloke couldn’t speak much English. Did this matter to our irritating little shit? Why no, she spoke to him like a naughty three year old and huffing and puffing because he didn’t understand her ridiculous Plastic Scouse accent.


She must be putting it on. No one sounds like that, and if they did, then surely they’d have their fucking vocal chords taken out. That accent makes me want to kill things, it’s fucking disgusting. More importantly, IT’S FUCKING FAKE. It doesn’t actually exists as an accent. It is a fucking stereotype which has gone past fucking stereotypes and taken over. No-one talks like that anywhere in the goddamn world. Anyone who does is just putting it on.

Stop putting that accent on, seriously. The image in my head whenever I hear it is of a footballers wife. The kind of cock hungry slag who’s food now falls down her throat due to it’s impressive girth. The sort of person who doubles her body weight when she puts make up on, has a hairstyle that looks like her scalp is being ripped off and thinks that intellectual stimulation is an instruction book in a vibrator. Think Desperate Scousewives. Actually don’t. You might be sick.


But our poor friend, who had by now communicated that he wanted a sausage sandwich, was suitably upset. So attentions turned back to me. Salad?

What? I said,

Salad?

What?

Salad? Do you want salad?

You mean the green stuff?

Yes, Salad?

What?

She huffed, and started moving my sandwich to the end of the counter. “Hang on” I said. “I was led to believe that this sandwich comes with salad”

“I asked if you wanted salad”

“I’m very sorry, I didn’t understand you. I’d like 17 peppers, 36 grams of lettuce, 14 gherkins, 23 onion shavings and just the tiniest soupçon of mayonnaise. Also, can I have a cookie with the brown M&M’s removed?”

Then I asked for a bag. I’m am scum. Planet murdering hungry scum. May Cthulhu treat me like the heinous piece of distended rectum that, in your eyes, I evidently am.


Basically, it’s a shit job. I know it’s a shit job because I’ve done similar, but quite frankly. I couldn’t give a flying fuck, or a walking fuck for that matter. I don’t care if you woke up and your car had exploded, or you’d found out your boyfriend records porn videos of himself blowing horses and has run away to find Shergar so he can fuck the corpse. I don’t care if you contracted viral encephalitis and puss is seeping out of your ears and I certainly don’t care that you obviously have a fucking hangover. You went out last night, you fucking deal with it in the morning. We all do that

It’s not hard. Being civil is very easy. You don’t even need to fucking smile. Just be polite. You don’t treat me like shit on your fucking shoes. I’m just another person trying to give you money. Treat me with the respect I was treating you with. At least you’ve got a fucking job that’s paying you, and you’re an artist. A sandwich artist but isn’t being an artist something we’ve all dreamed of?

However, if you were on workfare, I’d totally understand, 

and as Subway are currently participating in Workfare, I’d suggest this is the best time to stop buying from them. I for one won’t go in anymore.


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