I’m Quitting Subway, Cold Turkey
After countless years together, I can no longer go on pretending that it is working out between us. Throughout all of the lunches and dinners we’ve shared, I’ve been lying to you; you’ve never satisfied me. The emptiness I feel after our encounters has made it impossible to justify ever seeing you again.
Your ease drew me to you in the beginning, along with how you never pressured me into a commitment; I could leave anytime I chose. Sure, you had your reward card that made me want to go back to you again and again. But eventually, you no longer recognized my stamp collection and I felt like all the attention I gave you would never be shown to me in return.
Despite your disinterest in me, I overlooked your lack of substance. Time and time again, I gave you second chances. I told myself that next time would be different. That next time there would be more meat, the vegetables wouldn’t straddle the center of the bread, forcing me to eat you like a hot dog, and your tomatoes would be ripe. But those small changes never came.
I tried to avoid you, but you were everywhere. I would be in a hurry, and there you were. I would see you on the corner and tell myself to keep on going. But foolishly, I couldn’t deny a quickie and wound up used for my money and left dissatisfied, once again.
I’ve never told you, but my family doesn’t approve of you, either. They have higher standards for me. My father owns a sub shop and my mother taught me to use homegrown vegetables when the season is right. I am so saddened to bring shame to our name and I can no longer go on carrying this burden.
Before we met, I never hung around your type on a regular basis. Of course, now and again when I had a craving, I would mingle with your fast and easy neighbors. But I was alright with that because they never left me yearning. And my family didn’t criticize me, because they knew I had needs that had to be fulfilled. I felt satisfied and comforted after the occasional rendezvous with your neighbor, and I even felt a little bit drowsy afterward. It was nice.
One thing I have always appreciated about your neighbors is that they don’t try to be something they’re not. You think you’re an “artist” and you even call yourself “fresh.” You smell bad when you bake and you decorate in a way you think will fool us into believing you actually took those pictures of aged cheeses and herbs in your back room.
I can no longer go along with your lies. And, I can’t pretend that a $5 footlong is a deal anymore, either. After I add avocado, chips and a drink, I’m well past $10. And for what? Turkey that has more age spots than the top of an old lady’s hand?
We just aren’t on the same page – we never were. It’s like we don’t even speak the same language. “Extra lettuce” means one thing to me and quite another to you. And one would expect mayo to typically go the entire length of the bread, but shame on me for assuming you’d know that. For years, I was hoping we had different tastes, but now I realize that you truly don’t care.
Your intentions may not have been malicious, but the ratio of red onion to pickles says otherwise. Why would I want 10 thick hunks of red onion that haven’t been separated into rings all over the sub and only two pickles stacked one on top of the other directly in the center of the sandwich?
You get away with your careless behavior because you prey on the weak. You know you’re the only relatively low calorie and easy thing in a 5-mile radius. And there are 10 women on this block alone with only 8 Weight Watcher points left and an emotional void to fill.
You spend all of your money on meat. And, I don’t mean the deli kind. I mean, the handsome athletes you pay to have in your commercials, slinging your hokey tagline, “Where Winners Eat.” Oh, yeah? Subway is where winners eat? Then why are there two teens in front of me with half shirts on dropping the f-bomb at their mother?
Going forward, please take my advice so your weird habits don’t turn others off the way they’ve turned me off. I think no longer shouting abrasively when someone enters, “Welcome to Subway!” is a good place to start. You’ve tried to make us feel welcome but your disingenuous attempt falls flat and we know you’ve used the same line on all the other customers.
And, hear me when I say, if you stop trying so hard, people might actually like you. It’s when you pretend to be something you’re not, you start to lose your real friends. If your tagline was something more like “Eat Kind Of Fresh” or “Where the Mediocre Eat,” I might actually consider getting back with you. The idea here, is that if your tagline appears authentic, then your food has a better chance at being real, as well.
Until then, I wish the best for you. I’m sure you’ll be fine without me. There are plenty of people out there who will sacrifice their standards for something as easy as you. But, maybe they’ll come to their senses, maybe not. One thing I can assure you is if it takes them as long as it took me, you’ll have a long and successful future ahead.
P.S. I’d also ditch that Jared friend of yours. He was barely cool like, 15 years ago.
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