SubWHAT?

So it wasn't bad enough that I had to suffer the indignation of riding the recumbent bike at the gym because of my knee.  You know, that piece of equipment normally being used by old men in jeans and slippers? Yep. That's the one. While my friends are doing our usual Thursday "Iron Women" class, I'm hanging out with my boy Willard over there in the corner. On the sit-down bike. 'Cause sitting upright is just a little too much trouble when you're 85. At least I still have the stitches in so there's visible evidence as to why this is all I can do at this point in time. That and the fact that I told anybody that would listen that I had just had knee surgery and that's why I was on the dumb-ass bike. I should have a t-shirt made that says, "I'm usually a bad ass but I HAD KNEE SURGERY". So having been sufficiently taken down about forty ego notches, I made my way to Subway. I am a very weird food person. The only thing I'll eat for lunch is Subway, Panera or a Lean Cuisine. My college roomate will confirm that for two years I ate nothing but two slices of low-cal bread with fat-cheese melted between them. This is notable as it apparently gave me some pretty hellacious gas and to this day she will not let me live it down. My point being that my bizarre food habits are nothing new. Anyway today was a Subway day. I knew the minute I walked in the door that I was in for a treat. It was apparently Field Day at a local elementary school and every mother in the vicinity had brought their kid in for a post-three-legged race lunch. Okay. That's cool. What is NOT cool is letting your six-year old order when THERE ARE TWENTY-FIVE PEOPLE IN LINE BEHIND YOU. THE KID IS SIX. HE DOESN'T KNOW IF HE HAS TO GO TO THE BATHROOM LET ALONE WHAT HE WANTS ON HIS FUCKING SUB. There is a time and a place for confidence building exercises. That is not one of them. And how this could not occur to a person boggles my mind. God. Subway person: "What kind of cheese do you want?" Kid: "Italian". Subway person: "Uhhhhhhh". After FAR too long, the mother intervenes and says, "Oh, he means AMERICAN. Hee hee". Hilarious, lady. This goes on through the entire assembly line. I finally got up to the register without doing bodily harm to myself or others during said ordeal (twenty minutes, literally) and asked the manager Bill (who knows my sandwich order by heart.....that's how OCD I am) and said, "Damn, Bill......what are you putting in these subs?" Bill: Crack. No shit. I hope there's extra on mine.