Monday, September 14, 2009

Please excuse my horrible text message grammar/spelling as i tell you entirely too much about sandwiches...

So I mentioned that I threw off some sandwich professionals in my lessons learned while going to Charlotte and, as if she could read my mind (which if she can I apologize profusely and I didn’t mean those things I thought about her mother), Lilu sensed I had really wanted to make that story into a whole post. So, since I am not one to deny a commenter query (as this is the first one I can recall), here goes.

There is a fantastically tasty national sandwichery that we don’t have in New Jersey (Yet!...since I am told they are putting one in down by the STD capital of the US Rutgers) but that I got very used to having nearby when I was living in Virginia and Pennsylvania. To be fair, I’m a little more gung ho than I should be about them, but that is because, in addition to being yum and delivering (so I do not need to get my rotund butt off the couch), Indie Jake works for said national sandwichery (a fact which caused me to watch the majority of a NASCAR race in support of their car. Go ahead, point and laugh).

Back many moons ago, when he was studying to go to sandwich brainwashing corporate training to become a store manager I had been helping him study. This results in me learning a disturbing amount of information about sandwiches, including the jargon they use to denote alterations in bread procedures (if you know what this means then, bless your heart, you are just as crazy as I am).

On my way home from North Carolina, I had occasion to stop for dinner and, since there was a franchise of this sandwichery en route, I decided to stop and eat there. I then proceeded to order my usual.

“Can I get a #3 LBI.”

The girl employee making sandwiches stared at me while dude employee rang me up. Then she starts to take all the delicious, fluffy, white carbohydrate-y goodness out of the middle of the bread (as is standard). I may have over reacted a little and done a Star Wars-esque NOOOOOOOOO!. Maybe. See LBI means, “I’m terribly sorry and I know y’all worked very hard to know the proper way to balance a sandwich but I am a fat fuck and I love bread so please leave all the bread guts in my sandwich so I may grow large with calories”.

Girl employee had this explained to herby dude employee, got out another roll and made my dinner (because they are good like that at National Sandwichery) while he and I had a brief conversation in which he asked where I learned to order as such and I told him the my best friend used to manage his sister store before moving to corporate. No biggie, all on the up and up, and also not terribly interesting.

But I am a child of the connected generation, so I felt the need to tell Indie Jake about this encounter. Which resulted in the following conversation:


...it’s slightly funnier when you take into account the fact that #3 is a tuna sandwich.

3 comments:

  1. Ahahahaha! CLASSIC. It is SO much better that it was tuna... ;-)

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  2. Apparently I laugh a lot?!




    HAHAHAHAHHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhehhh.

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  3. I wish I was a professional sandwich orderer.

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