The Sandwich blog?

And today I shall blog about two disparate shopping experiences that I had yesterday.

Well, hmmm ... that sounds boring. It needs more meat, something I can sink my teeth into. Ahh, I know! I'll not-so-obliquely reference food, as does my Darling Hubby who is the light-of-my-life (despite the fact that he keeps forgetting to plug in the nightlight downstairs ... heh, get it? 'light of my life'? 'night light'? aww, forget it).

Where was I?

Yes! I shall blog about The Sandwich! (cue dramatic music)

So, anyway, I had to nip into town yesterday after hubby gets home, ostensibly to fetch a (bloody expensive) breaker bar to get this bolt off of Hubby's truck so that I can change the alternator and he can quit driving my van! Well, while I'm in town I decide to fetch sandwiches at Sub Station II (we both despise Subway. Yuck! Poo!) so after a bit of thrift store browsing and picking up a few groceries, I only have two stops: sandwich shop and Lowes.

I love our sandwich shop. It's run by a lovely lady, Ms B, who takes great care with the making of the sandwiches. There's only one problem. Well a continually rotating succession of problems. The Help.

Everytime I go in there there's a new, novice employee and they all follow a pattern. Employee-Of-The-Day is always apathetic and bored looking. She's always young and wearing clothes that don't fit and are on the opposite end from flattering. Her language skills are so poor that we cannot seem to communicate. Yesterday was no exception.

I got a feeling of dread when I walked in because Ms B was not there ... MR B was. Uh-oh. Mr B is never seen. This is HER business and - as I quickly found out - he's not at all familiar with the daily workings.

So I'm poised, anxiously at the counter watching Mr B put the meat on my sandwiches and eyeing Employee-Of-The-Day who is - I'm not exaggerating - gazing vapidly into space, mouth slack, swaying slightly. Then Mr B says the most horrifying thing:

"You make her number 5"

Oh, fuck me.

So she wanders over to the counter and says: "May-nays?"

Me: "uh-huh" (note: Sub Station requires the employees to make sandwiches in a certain order: lettuce, tomatoes, onions, S, P , oregano, oil, vinegar on bottom THEN mayo, mustard on top.)

She proceeds to haphazardly squirt about 2 teaspoons of mayo on ONLY the lower edge of the top piece of bread. "Izzat'n'nuff?"

Me: "uh-huh"

At this point Mr B begins to make Hubby's sandwich. Sweat beads up on my forehead.

So now I'm feverishly conducting two very bad sandwich makers. EOTD is putting my tomatoes all on the right hand side of my bread. Mr B is covering Hubby's lettuce with un-requested onions. EOTD is putting on green peppers - also not asked for. Mr B is trying to wrap hubby's sandwich un-cut. EOTD is sneezing and wiping her nose on her sleeve.

Fabulous. Fucking fabulous. Where's America's Funniest Videos? Sod that. Where's Fear Factor?!

At some point I staggered, dazed, out the door clutching what had all the ingredients of, but was NOT, two Sub Station II subs.

Cut to the Lowes. I adore the Lowes. I'm like that 'Weird Al' Yankovic song: Hardware Store. Seriously. If Lowes sold groceries and diapers I'd never, ever, shop anywhere else.

"Would you look at all that stuff!"

Just being in there was cathartic. The quiet vastness, the gentle-yet-illuminating light, the rows and rows and rows of shiny tools, tempting plants, cans of paint. The aisles full of stacks of lumber. Aaaahhhh.

So I head over to the tool section, smiling at the cashiers who say hello, and pause. I realize that I have no idea where this tool is that I need. I wander up and down a few aisles, trying hard not to spot the half a million tools that I absolutely need and cannot live without.

Crud. I don't see this tool. I need to get home.

Then something miraculous happened. If it was accompanied by the singing of hosts of angels I didn't notice, but it should have been. There was not one but two salespeople bearing down on me, smiles on their faces.

Within 2 minutes I had my breaker bar and was checking out.

Now this Lowes is always like this. Everything is in stock, I've never had any problems with returns, and there are swarms of helpful, friendly salespeople everywhere. They hire out of the same small group of people; Newberry, South Carolina is just not that big. So why the marked difference in the dregs that Ms B gets in her sandwich shop and the clearly alert and reasonably intelligent folks that Lowes gets?

Salary? Hiring practices? Blind luck?

I have no idea.

Do you think it would be rude of me to ring ahead every time I want sandwiches and say: "Will Ms B be there and can SHE make my subs?" I mean, geez.