Note: Greatly shortened in 2017 to remove details, some personal but most merely boring and pointless.
It was eight days after I started working at Subway: that is, about two weeks ago, but I’ve been putting off writing about it, for no particular reason.
That day I showed up at about 1000, I suppose. Sarah had me take some bread out of the interesting item that is called the “retarder” and put it in the proofer, which is where the bread rises for a while. I also chopped some tomatoes and made some sandwiches. Pretty uneventful. At about 1130 I suppose, Sarah looked in the proofer and told me with some disdain, “Common sense says you should season some of these, not just make all white and wheat.” Seasoning is where you roll the bread in some stuff to make it a different type of bread, like for example Parmesan Oregano. She hadn’t told me to season any bread, much less how many of each kind to season. But I apologized anyhow and she made an interesting gesture that was a combination of a shrug and “don’t mention it”. I clocked out at 1200, because it was going to be a slow day and she said I might as well go home. And then she said, “[Chuck], it’s not going to work out.
I was too jolted to say anything relevant. I just said, “What?”
She said, “You’re not getting it, I don’t see you getting it…” and trailed off.
I said, “So, do you–want me to come back tomorrow?” She shook her head no. She said I could bring my two Subway shirts and my apron and hat up to the store some other time and also pick up my paycheck. I did her one better and left her everything right then except for one shirt I had at home. I left her with the enigmatic and underconstructed thought, “I thought I had something there.”
File under: work