The Subway Blunder

Wednesday. The last day of tests. Two taken. Real Estate at 2pm in the testing center, Drafting and Design at 5:45pm in class. I escape the testing center's talons a litte before 4 and the waiting line has grown from a modest trickle to a Ho Chi Minh trail of croc-footed underclassmen that is wrapped all the way from the Testing Center downstairs door, beyond the JSB, and almost all the way towards the Eyring science center (about 200m). I look upon the hundreds of faces with both pity and a condescending sense of "i told you so". What did they expect waiting until the afternoon of the last day of finals? I stop thinking about the test waiting line about the time that I'm in another line, consequently, looking at sandwich options. I narrow my choice down to "The Feast" whose salami, black forest ham, and pepperoni call out to me as a bounteous reward for my labors of the day. I decide to go with the six inch, no need to overkill, plus it would be like $10 for the footlong. As the salivation begins the Vegetable Guy takes the sandwich and asks with an air of impatience "whose sandwich is this?" while looking at me. I give him my requests - a hearty list of condiments and greens. Then he moves the sandwich aside and pulls up the next sandwich and asks his monotone monotonous question he's programmed to ask. I look down and this new sandwich, the one with no vegetables on it, is mine. My heart collapses into my stomach, I've just ruined someone else's sandwich with my copious collection of customized chiles. He keeps calling out for the owner of this new sandwich, but I'm dedicated to not responding. I can't, the words betray me, I quickly debate the pros and cons of pulling a 180 and leaving the scene of the crime, but there are too many witnesses, I'll be caught for sure and I'll still be hungry. So I stay, awaiting exposure and judgement, and the guy in front of me comes back to see his precious FOOTLONG veggie delight saturated in creamy southwest chipotle sauce and onions - the witch hunt and subsequent trial has begun.  Surrendering, I have to explain to both Vegetable Man and Veggie Delight Boy, that I, by proxy, ordered for his sandwich. They look at me like I've set a kitten on fire and can't comprehend what kind of monster would do such a thing. In the lingering confusion, Bread Girl comes over and explains that a new sandwich must be made to atone for the sins of the first sandwich, which must now be cast down into outer trashness where there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth and probably mold. Sheepishly, I apologize to Veggie Boy as I pass him in line, but he's clearly not even going to humor me with a faux acceptance of apology. Oh well, at least now I can sulk away to the corners of the cougar eat and consume my tasty and guilt ridden "Feast". 

The End.