Subway Smackdown

Restraint has never come easy to me. If I hear or see something stupid, it takes every ounce of strength in me to refrain from reacting in a physical or verbal manner—and by physical, I mean the loudest facepalm you’ve ever heard (I invented the facepalm; I’ve been doing it since I was 5).

However, when I’m tired or fed up, all censors are off. Anything can happen. I know it is not my place to put idiots in their place, but in all the years I’ve been told that ignorance is bliss, it has never, ever been blissful to me.

A few nights ago, I went to Subway (EAT FRESH on lousy bread!) because I always lose track of time when I edit, and at 11pm, it is the only open place within walking distance. I know everybody hates Subway, but for a $5 footlong, there's no reason to expect anything... except maybe a potential act of violence if you’re me.

Upon entering the Way of the Sub, there was a line of women waiting to be helped at the counter. At the other end of the room sat two guys who talked so loudly that the workers could not hear the orders properly. Judging from how the guys were wearing lame tracksuits and the women were in business clothes, I knew neither side was associated with the other.

The women did not look happy at all. One of them kept glaring at the two men like they had open wounds on their faces. The guy in the red tracksuit was going on and on about his girlfriend while the other, in blue, played the yes man. Their conversation begged for a facepalm:

Red: "I don't get it, man. I wake up, go to work, work my ass off, come home tired, and she expects me to talk and shit?"

Blue: "Seriously?"

Red: "Yeah. I'm tired. I don't have time to hear her shit. She works too, but she gets home before me, and has time to make dinner. I don’t have that kind of time. All I wanna do when I get home is eat and veg. Save talking for Saturday or whenever. It can wait."

Blue: "Did you tell her that?"

Red: "Yeah, and she gets all angry like it’s my fault."

As this was going on, I watched as each woman left Subway with a look of disgust. Even the two ladies behind the counter shook their heads as they put soggy tomatoes on the sandwiches. Of course, the tracksuit duo was completely oblivious to this.

Meanwhile, I had no energy to do anything but get my $5 footlong and go home. I had been editing for ten straight hours and almost forgot that I had to eat. The last thing I wanted was to hear the wisdom of two guys sharing one brain. They kept going on and on and on...

Red: "She always expects me to be like her. But I don't like talking like she does. I don't like going out and doing the same stuff like her. I'm me, man. If she wants to be with me, she needs to accept that."

Blue: "Maybe you need to tell that to her, too."

I couldn’t take it anymore.

"Maybe you need to treat her better," I blurted.

The whole Subway hushed like a Western saloon. The lady behind the counter paused right in the middle of putting olives on my cold cut combo. I didn’t even realize the remark was audible until I heard a chair slide back.

"Maybe you should mind your business, bro," Red told me.

I could see Red in the reflection of that counter window you look through to pick your meats and veggies. He stood about 6 feet tall and had no neck. To give you perspective, I am a lanky 5’10" and my body has been declared an unsafe structure by four zoning inspectors. If Red punched me, I’d probably die from the pneumonia generated by the wind of his fist before it came in contact with my face.

But I didn’t care.

"You're right," I said, "But I’m not the one dressed like a tool and hee-hawing like a jackass."

It was at this point that I became quite grateful for Blue, 'cause when Red moved forward, Blue got up and held him back. Despite his diminutive size, Blue held his own against Red’s flailing arms. It was like watching Lefou try to calm Gaston, praises and all. ("Come on, man, you’re smarter than this. You’re too good for jail, man.")

"Listen to your beta, Red," I remarked.

I guess it really pissed them off that I never turned around. I kept my eyes on my sandwich ‘cause I was hungry. The woman behind the counter smirked.

"Can I get more olives please?" I asked her.

A few ladies who already got their order stuck around for the main event, and took out their cell phones just in case 9-1-1 had to be dialed.

"I’m already calling the police," said the woman who stood before me in line. I felt bad for her. She endured more of their painful discussion than I did.

"It won’t be hard for cops to find two douchebags in tracksuits driving around Culver City," I added.

Vincent and Julius left in a puff, shouting four-letter obscenities that they couldn’t spell. I just kept waving goodbye as they pushed through the doors. Clearly, they forgot the First Rule in a Crisis Situation ("Negotiate first, attack last"), and even though I forgot the Second Rule ("If you choose to bluff, you must be prepared to have your bluff called"), I was prepared to implement the Third ("DUCK!").

By all accounts, I could have had my ass whooped at Subway that night. I thanked the ladies for backing me up. One even offered to buy my sandwich for me! But the workers were kind enough to let me have it on the house.

"I thought they would never shut the hell up!" exclaimed one of them.

A woman who stayed behind gave me a hug and said, "Please tell me not all men think like that."

"I hope not," I replied.

For the record, I’m no feminist; Red’s girlfriend deserves just as much criticism for sticking with such a loser. But seriously, how difficult is it to treat a woman—or any human being—properly? If you listen enough and remain respectful, you’re already on the right path. And if you don’t wear tracksuits, you're even better off.

All I wanted was a sandwich without stupidity on the side. In retrospect, I would have paid more than 5 bucks for that.