Ages ago, I used to work at a little sandwich joint I lovingly referred to as Mother Subway. It was the first official job I ever had... and was the first job I ever truly abhorred. It wasn't the long hours piled atop my schoolwork, or the fact that customers treated me like shit (which is guaranteed if one works in food service; especially if you're working for a chain restaurant) nor was it my boss who was a tiny little turd-tool. It was, in fact, my fellow 'sandwich artists.'
There were 9 of us. We toiled together, we cleaned together, we cooked together, we smiled and said "Welcome to Subway™, what can I make for you today?!" together, and we hated each other... together.
But there were two maties in particular who always seemed to rub me the wrong way- regardless of what we were doing or what mood we were in. The first being Gauge-Girl, a 19 year old runaway who gave females a bad name. She was a walking stereotype of the 'typical teenage girl.' She had this mass of curly hair pinned under her Subway™ visor with flowery boby-pins and red, thick-rimmed glasses. On her first day, she strode into the store with her hips swinging in her black spandex and her Ugg™ boots squeaking on the floor. Throughout our awesomely epic bread-baking training video, she snapped her gum and texted on her sparkly cell phone with rapid machine-gun like clicks. She had this miserable valley-girl drawl and said things like "Like, yeah." And "Oh. Mah. Gaaaawwwd." and "You're nawt the boss of meh, Sarah." I saw her smile once in our entire relationship, and it was only because T-Bag, my other bestest co-worker friend, started flirting with her. She had virtually no ambition, and did nothing unless ordered to do so.
If one sees that the dishes are dirty, one washes the damn dishes. But Gauge-Girl would merely stare at the dishes until someone alluded that they should be done by a certain someone named "Gauge-Girl." She was like a robot who didn't run unless programmed, and shut down once that single programmed duty was done. I guess she was more cut-out for the job than I was. I guess both she and T-Bag were more cut out for Subway™ than I was. They're both working there as of today.
I don't know if I should be proud or ashamed of that fact.
Has your life ever seemed like a retardedly predictable movie with retardedly hydrogenous characters? It's experiences like the ones I had with T-Bag that made me glance around when no one was looking to search for the cameras. Is there a script I don't know about? Is this all a reality show? Now, Gauge-Girl was called such 'cause she had these huge gauges in her ears (because she's so damn conventional in her rebellion.) I refer to this boy as T-Bag because it is what I assume his favorite past-time is. He was from a rich white family, and lead a rich white life. He never had to work for everything a day in his life and developed an extremely sarcastically likable attitude. He was the epitome of arrogance and vanity. He had this shaggy bowl-cut hair style and was so in love with himself he'd offer to shine up the counters so he could stare at his reflection and check if his eyebrows were still perfect. Under his Subway™ shirt he'd wear a mesh-like wife-beater to show off his lanky biceps (or lack thereof). When he wasn't flirting with EVERY vagina in the joint, he was always extremely busy standing around trying to squeeze pheromones from his arm-pits by flexing. He'd say things like "You washing the dishes? You need any help? I have a washboard right here *gesture to abs*" He'd also say "Hey, Sarah, can you take care of this?" "Hey, Sarah, what goes in this sammich?" "Hey, Sarah... I... I forgot what I was gonna say."
The first time I met him at our orientation, he turned up the charm until the very atmosphere between us crackled with flirtatiousness. When I showed absolutely no interest, hidden-revulsion in fact, he convinced himself I was playing hard to get. Because who the hell COULDN'T be attracted to him? Ever since then, he'd allude to my secret crushes on him. "I know, Sarah, don't lie. You totally wouldn't want to go 'do inventory' in the freezer together."
To which I'd reply, "Too bad doing inventory means having the ability to count, or else I'd know you'd be able to help."
He'd just flash a smile and say a disgustingly teasing tone, "Ooooh that one hurt so good."
What a poet, right?
I soon realized that intelligent retorts merely egged him on. I began countering his advances with stares filled with venom. After that, with each shift, his charming little quips began to wane, until eventually he barely looked in my direction anymore.
Is there anyway to sum this entire little story up? How 'bout a bet.
In 5 years, if they're still working at Subway™ and their job hasn't been replaced by robots, I'll never watch anime again. That's a big deal. I'm a nerd girl.
