I went to Subway the other day for my daughter – Subway the “sandwich store”, not subway the “underground transportation system” (in that case, I would’ve said “the” subway, but maybe you are not so good with grammar). My daughter was hungry for roasted chicken on whole wheat, and I’m a really nice person. That’s why it happened.
Anyway, when I went inside – a little reluctantly because I’m not a big fan of fast food places even if I’m NOT the one eating the crap – there was a short line of four people (including me), and two staff working behind the counter making sandwiches.
The man at the front of the line asked for three BLT’s (bacon, lettuce, tomato), two toasted, one not – emphasis on the “one NOT” because that is where the problems began. The Subway sandwich maker girl person employee – a young woman by the name of May – assembled the two toasted sandwiches no problem, and was all set to put together the not-toasted one, when her brain operations seemed to grind to an unfortunate halt.