Lost in Translation

Peep this.

I just went and picked up a sammich at the Subway shop on West End Ave. and 61st Street. I ordered a 6" turkey on roasted garlic bread. Sounds simple enough, doesn't it?

The distinguished young sandwich artist standing across the counter before me was at the ready. He put on a fresh pair of exam gloves and looked at them as though they were his paintbrushes. The sandwich artist grabbed a footlong bat of roasted garlic bread, sliced it, and started filling it up with turkey. Okay, so I'm getting a footlong now. I guess it's only $1 or so more if that and I'm kinda hungry anyways... no skin off my back. He then grabbed a tile of flatbread, put turkey and cheese on it, and asked if I wanted either one or both toasted.

Says I: "Uh, sorry, but I did not order another sandwich, much less one on flatbread.. cancel that one, please." He then went over to the footlong and started scooping the bread-meat out of the loaf, essentially leaving a hollowed out bread-bowl pod. "This good.. you mean like this?" he asked.

Okay. So that's how this is gonna go down? I explained to him once more as clear as possible that I only ordered one sammich, NOT 2. Just the 6" footlong that he was making for me. I went into caveman mode and pointed to it and nodded my head yes, pointed to the flatbread and shook my head no. Big sandwich. Yes. Sandwich on bread tile. No. Please, thankyou, etc.

I thought to myself He clearly understands my order now, right?

"Okay. Lettuce tomato?" he asked, pulling both the scalloped loaf of bread and flatbread canvases toward the pallet of fresh fixins. Every time I told him what I wanted on my 6" footlong he would throw it on the flatbread as well. This sandwich order discombobulation continued to the bitter end. I contemplated leaving in lieu of sticking around for whatever sheer terror was about to transpire at the cash register. The man couldn't operate a loaf of bread... how could he possibly ring me up - especially without any pictures on the buttons?

I was going to add a beverage to my order but refrained from doing so. There was no need to complicate matters more than they already were. The way things were going he'd probably snap his fingers and a team of sandwich artists would suddenly emerge from the back room with a 6 foot party sub loaf crammed full of oatmeal raisin cookies.

In the end I was charged for only 1 footlong and left with two sammiches. Not a bad deal. I can only hope that this particular sandwich artist changes professions someday. I'd love to see what would happen if he ended up being my teller at the Bank of America counter and had to exchange my $10 bill for a roll of quarters.