text: I got drunk last night. That’s not the point of this story, but it needs to be addressed. This morning I awoke at 7:45 to a jackhammer cracking my skull right in front where the wrinkles in your forehead split. I got up, chugged a mug off water, and went back to sleep. My only responsibility for this lazy Sunday was to collect a display from a grocer across town at 6pm. After a couple movies, a few episodes of Arrested Development, and some cheese and crackers it was almost 5. I hopped in the shower and thought of all the great places I could eat dinner. I was going across town, and had my pick of anything I wanted. While packing up the display I decided upon a delicious Philly cheesesteak from a sub shop I don’t get to frequent as much as I’d like to. The idea grew in my head overtaking all other thoughts, which is actually pretty upsetting. I was not starving by any means, just the night before I stuffed my face with a Chicago style dog and some cheesy fries.......If you haven’t already figured out, I eat pretty poorly, but that’s another issue for another story. As soon as I walked through the door I heard two things. The first being a Ding to alert them of my presence and the other was one of the young girls working, yell to the back “It’s your turn!” This in my head is already an issue, her lack luster work ethic is going to translate directly into my food in some weird way. Be it through her emotions as she angrily separates the steak, or even how she slaps the mayo to my bread. It might be all mental on my end, maybe my taste receptors won’t savor the same if my head doesn’t feel the happiness in my sandwich? When she didn’t hear a response she turned to me, gave me a little smile, and asked me “What can I get for you today?” I said in my blandest voice possible, due to my current dissatisfaction, “I’ll have a Philly cheesesteak please.” “Ok, what kind of bread, white or wheat?” “I’ll have white please.”........remember I already said I eat poorly. “Would you like onions and peppers?” The girl working has no way of knowing this, but I loathe onions. If I had the option to rid the World of three things, I would pick onions three times. So I said, “No onions, and could you also make that a large sub?” “No.” she replied. “Please?” I said with a confused look. “Yes.” She said with a smile, as she turned to make my hoagie. I started to think a bit about that exchange, and still haven’t yet decided what it meant. On one hand she could just be making a joke, on the other she could be flirting. For all I know she says it to everyone. I have no reason to believe it was flirtatious in any way, but, shit, maybe it was. I am so oblivious to situations like this that I have to calculate them out later to decide. If it was flirting, and I had even caught on at the time, I wouldn’t have done anything. I am too much of a chicken shit to even say something else. I’m getting off topic again, and this story is about my sandwich. She let me know when my sandwich was ready, and rang me up at the register. I paid her, and asked if Germany had won the world cup. She told me they had and said “Have a nice evening.” Now I know for sure that she wasn’t flirting, or maybe she was, I don’t know. I sit down to eat my sandwich. I pull half out, and wrap the other half back up for lunch tomorrow. The first thing I notice is the dark shade to my white bread. As you might have guessed my white bread was wheat, and this being an honest mistake, I had no issue with letting it slide. However, when I took my first bite I chomped straight into the nastiest, most bitter, tongue stinking, eye watering onion I have ever tasted. The flavor engulfed my mouth and ran all my taste receptors to their doom. Each chew spread this disease. I thought about returning my sub to the girl and asking her to remake it, but that would make me look like an asshole, which is something I am trying to avoid. I mean, I have the ability to pick onions out of my food, and if I return this food, it will go straight into the trash. What it ultimately boils down to is the fact that I got the wrong sub, and I had every right to get up, walk over to the counter, and request that it be remade.......but I didn’t........I picked the onions out, and left unsatisfied with my sandwich to the sound of the girl saying “Good Bye.” as I walked out the door. Does this story have a point? Not really. I dropped my sandwich off to a homeless man on the corner near my apartment. I have deemed him the most deserving, as if I could pass judgment. I offered him a beer one day, and he turned it down stating “That’s the reason I’m in this mess.” Maybe the point is that I need to eat wheat bread, or maybe just eat less, the universe interfering with my quest to get fatter. Or maybe the girl messed it up so badly just because she wanted me to come back and talk to her, which I doubt. In all honesty, it is just a reason for me to bitch and moan, fueled slightly by the fact that I watched “Annie Hall” earlier in the day. Take from this what you will, but if you learned anything. I hate onions.