I’d like to add to the pitting the person on line ahead of me at Subway today, who insisted on getting “everything” added to her footlong giganto chicken sub (“everything” means “every vegetable ever invented”), then asking for a little tub of oil separately, then after further reflection asking for red wine vinegar on her sub, then distracting the teenaged worker with her dimwitted theories about how young people look older these days, it must be the facial hair, what do you think? (this last bit directed at me in an attempt to drag me into this inane conversation and delay things still further).
Lady, I don’t give a rat’s ass, some of us have jobs and lives to get to, and you wouldn’t so closely resemble Petunia Pig if you didn’t consume such huge lunches.
I also worked at a pizza place in high school and had the same experience, many times. When that would happen and they’d tell me to hold on, I’d bang the phone receiver repeatedly against the counter.
Really? She was taking a long time because of her talking, not because she wanted “everything”, most of which is negligible calories. And oil on the side means she can control how much oil she eats. It seems that this “pig” was actually making a more healthful choice.
There are a lot of different veggie bins at Subway, each of which take long enough to sample if the counterperson is not distracted by dopey customer comments.
Or the ability to pour an entire tublet on the sandwich instead of the couple of squirts people usually get.
Or she could get a six-incher without mayonnaise, extra oil etc. Or just not make her sandwich creation be an all-day affair, her lard-butt being of secondary import.
She was probably being prudent: attempting to swallow an entire footlong sub without the proper lubrication can damage even a well-stretched esophagus.
Oh, god, I ran into that today. Apparently the guy had to get just the right amount of soda in his cup. He’d take a little sip, then fill up his cup. Oops, too full, take a little sip, oops, not full enough . . .
Same thing about the people who stand in front of the coffee maker to concoct the perfect coffee. Add a little creamer, stir, taste, add a litte more creamer, stir, taste, add a little sugar, stir, taste . . .
And then there are the salsa bar yahoos, one of whom I ran into today at El Pollo Loco. She had a sizable to-go order, which she stacked on the ledge of the salsa bar while she s-l-o-w-l-y filled several of those little plastic cups with assorted salsas. Getting the cup lids affixed just perfectly was another lengthy operation, while the bag of food prevented anyone else from accessing the other side of the bar. Then she left it there, together with her keys and other crap, while she filled a couple of big cups at the soda machine. Meanwhile, six or eight of us were lining up trying to get our salsa, too. She gaped at us unseeingly, in a bovine manner, but the glare of bigger meaner guys than me didn’t speed her up a bit.
I admit that in my teens I was one of those who’d pile everything up just so, the reason being that I could then get more food for my money (you could only go up once). However, on the few occasions that there were other people there and I knew my scientic piling would take a while, I’d let them go first. Nothing wrong with taking a long time about getting the most you can as long as you’re considerate about it.