Half Moon at Subway Station

I was running late and with it my patience. Usually, I consider myself a tolerant person, but the events of the day taxed my limits.


I had earlier this morning decided to take care of some personal business. It shouldn’t have taken as long as I had anticipated and wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for a discrepancy on a billing statement. Having resolved this minor annoyance, I still had about a half an hour to get to work. That was enough time to pick up something to eat and still have time to sit down and enjoy my lunch.

Not far from work is a Subway Sandwich shop that I frequently visit. Usually, at this time of day there is hardly a soul in the place, but today it was jammed pack. I figured since I was already there, I could wait and hope that the line would move fast.

A man of considerable size, approximately six feet four inches tall, patiently waited in front of me. His shirt was well worn, and at one point in time was probably white. Sweat stains saturated the thin fabric. A pair of Wrangler Jeans barely situated on his hips, exposed the upper buttocks. Now, I don’t make a habit of staring at a man’s ass, but this blatant, for it could only be considered blatant, shameless display caused a repugnance I haven’t felt in a long time. I have often been told that the human body is a work of art. This is one rock that shouldn’t have met the chisel.

I desperately fought the urge to inform the gentleman to pull up his pants, or at best direct him to the nearest store where he could buy a belt or a pair of suspenders.

Finally, it was his turn to place an order. An older woman behind the counter courteously asked him what he would like.

“I’ll have a BMT on rye bread.” He replied.

“Sir, we don’t have rye bread. We have wheat bread.”

“That’s rye bread. “The man said, pointing at the object in dispute.

The lady clearly was becoming annoyed. “I’m sorry sir, but this is wheat bread.”

“I’m telling you its rye. Believe me I know.”

I cannot believe that I’m being detained over a piece of bread, I thought. This has to be one of the most ridiculous arguments I’ve had to witness, and it was at my expense. Time was running out. If this keeps up, I may have to intervene. Look here moron, its wheat! O.K.!

The lady wisely shut her mouth and began to ask the man what he wanted on the sandwich. I at this point in time moved up to the counter, and with a discreet glance looked upon his visage. Dull, gray eyes intensely watched his sandwich being prepared. A red, bulbous nose laden with a network of over strained capillaries clearly indicated many years of hard drinking.

A major surprise on my part, I don’t know if I was concentrating on how much of a jerk this guy was or what; but somehow I missed out on his ordering two other sandwiches with everything on it!

By the way, I ordered my sandwich to go and ran into a traffic accident. Needless to say, I was late for work.