[Ugly Bastard]

Friends, family, gather around, it's story time.

Every day at Ball State University, I get a tortilla wrap from our eatery. It's a Subway-style get-up. You basically walk up to the counter, and tell them what you want on your wrap.

Well, there is a gentle old lady that works there named "Nancy". Nancy has been known to strike up a conversation with me on more than one occasion. I'm a pretty easily recognizable guy, and she does just that (recognizes me).

To prove that she 'knows' me, and isn't just being friendly; I have, on more than one occasion, walked up to the wrap-station side-by-side with another person. Anytime I do this, Nancy looks directly at me, ignores the other person, and asks "how are you doing today?" Or something to that effect.

Moral of the story, Nancy knows me.

The real bastard about Nancy is her inability to remember what I get every mother fucking day at the wrap-station.

I guarantee you that I have averaged at least one wrap per day, this entire school year. There are some days where I won't get one, but there are just as many days where I get two, so it all comes out in the wash.

Nancy easily makes five of my wraps per week, as she is the only full-time fixture at the establishment.

So let's add things up here:

5 (wraps per week) x 19 (weeks of school so far) = 95 (wraps that Nancy has made for me)

Allow me to tell you, that I get the exact same thing on my wrap every time I am there. I have never deviated from the original concoction that I created the first time I got a wrap.

So you'd think that after making 95 wraps, "the usual" would be enough to get Nancy's ass in gear, right?

Wrong Motherfucker.

Everyday that I walk up there, she looks at me with her sweet old face, says hello, asks how I'm doing, and then fetches the wrap of my choice (you can get tomato, white, wheat, or garlic...that is the only thing about my wrap that may vary from day to day).

Here's where the part that pisses me off hits the fan. She just looks way up at me from her 4'6" frame and says, "what kind of sauce would you like?" And for 95-fucking wraps in a row, I look at her and say "honey mustard", and for 95 wraps in a row, she stares back at me and says "honey mustard???". She's like my friend Karl...

Yes Nancy, honey fucking mustard. I'm in here every God damn day. You make my wrap for me every fucking day. And every fucking day you make my wrap for me, I have to tell you twice, that I would like honey mustard on my wrap.

[sidetrack]Allow me to take this time to get off track for a second, and discuss my days of working at Subway. Certainly tonguegina, ninjaface, and maybe pliedes can attest to this for me. I worked at Subway for the better side of a year. During this tenure, there were probably about five customers who I would make an item for on at least a bi-weekly basis. Two of them, I would start preparing their order when I saw their car pull up in the parking lot. Russ Ridley, bicycle, roasted chicken on white, no cheese, lettuce. Ms. Golding, Honda Civic, turkey salad with a little bit of onion (but only on the weekends), tomato, olive, and Italian dressing.

There were a few other customers that had a similar pattern like this, but they weren't quite as regular as Ms. Golding and Mr. Ridley.

The point of all this is, after probably 3-4 weeks, I had these people's order down to a tee. I never even had to utter a word to them at all throughout the entire process. Most of the time they would just wait down by the register, as they had noticed that I began preparing their item before they even entered the store.[/sidetrack]

Now, is it too unreasonable to think that after 95 orders, Nancy would know what I want on my wrap? It's not complex at all. Lettuce, Cucumber, little bit of onion, mozerella, and chicken. That's it. Five fucking things. Do I expect her to know it after the first, say, dozen times? Nah, why should she give a fuck? But after all Nancy and I have been through together, after all of the conversations and 'hellos', I would have thought that she would have been able to remember five simple fucking things to put on my daily wrap.

And it's not that she just 'doesn't remember' or is 'a little spotty'. She flat out doesn't have a fucking clue in the world what I'm about to say to her next after she puts on each item. Honest to God, she doesn't know a damn thing that I'm about to say to her.

Fuck.

And after all 95 times, after she wraps the motherfucker up, she looks up at me and says "do you want it cut?" and all 95 God damn times, I look back at her and say "no".

Nancy. Jesus...I mean....

Ah, hell.

-Ugly Bastard

[ February 03, 2004, 05:18 PM: Message edited by: Ugly Bastard ]