Sunday, February 22, 2004


I've fallen. I've become the happy in love writer, and my blog, and anything else word-related, has suffered as I have not. I've not wanted to believe that suffering begets good prose, and don't, but I am distracted and less self-involved (or more, you decide) and not cranking out the cranky verse of my past. Ah, well... the pain'll come 'round again, I have no doubt. Truth is, nothing has changed at Subway, men are men the world around, and there is plenty to critique. My running commentary about the Low Carb Revolution bored even me, but I went to yet another Subway shop last friday and my interest was revived. It's all about the jalapeno's. I may have given y'all the impression I don't like jalapenos -- not so. I just don't like them on non-Mexican food. So there I was, standing in line, thinking it would go well. I was face to face with this chick -- not in the drive-thru -- an advantage most times. You may as well know in advance that I ended up with jalapenos on my wrap. And I just didn't have the strength of will to fight city hall. There are better women who would have, could have, and won. But I was tired and hungry, and really really didn't give a shit. I had ordered a fajita wrap anyway, which, in a stretch, could be considered on the border of Mexican. But aside from the rest of the order, she asked what I wanted on it. "Onion and green pepper," I said. She reached for the dill pickles, which I don't think should be included at all, except on the side. Ever. So, I nearly swatted her through the glass, "NO!! No Pickles!! Peppers!" I shrieked. Once you get that dill juice going, you're fucked. So I averted that catastrophe and she reached for the pepper shaker. Okay, I think. Okay. Stay calm. Pepper is okay. Why not? But I know in my heart of hearts she ain't gettin' it. So I say, NICELY, "No-- I mean, yes... pepper is fine, but I also want green peppers." After all, it's a fucking fajita or something like it. Peppers are one of the key ingredients. But you've been reading along long enough to know what happens next... she reaches for and grabs a huge handful of jalapenos. Well, they're sort of gray-green. I figure, what the hell. Today I live in acceptance. I never did get green peppers. And she never knew she didnt' give me any. I think that's the rub. They -- the subwaifs -- remain happily unaffected while I have compromised my fucking Christian salvation for my thoughts. "If you've thought it, you've done it..." or so said the preachers. That single statement could be blamed for many a boundary crossing act on my part... that, and "oh, well, fuck it." Those preachers didn't know shit about Jesus. Anyway, the other problem is, that they don't understand the symmetry or fundamental beauty of the WRAP itself. She picks up the knife and before I can stab her with it, cuts the wrap in two. Now, i have two leaking wraps rather than one burrito-thingy. Has she never been to Taco Bell? Do they cut their burritos in half? Jesus. I'm unwrapped.

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