COLUMN: More than a sandwich artist
This past summer I took it upon myself to join the club of Central Michigan Life employees also employed as a Subway sandwich artist.
I applied because of my love for sandwiches and my lack of money, but ultimately, I learned more than just the difference between a Spicy Italian and a BMT.
My summer included wearing a ridiculously dorky uniform and asking people what kind of bread, meat, cheese and veggies they wanted on their subs. All. Day. Long.
The only thing that kept me going was the entertaining customers I encountered.
There were those I loved — veggie, non-toasted — and the ones that made me reconsider the human race.
With a closing time of 10 p.m., the last thing I wanted to deal with was a lady who strolled in at 9:50 p.m. and wanted to argue that spinach doesn’t brown overnight like lettuce does.
Between the countless drunk old guys dancing in line to being told “I’m calling corporate” by picky customers, I was more than ready to return back to Moore Hall.
I realized I am not cut out to stand all day, take orders, or deal with crabby customers and their picky little kids.
Nor do I want to deal with pushy pregnant women wanting a mountain of pickles on their sub.
Furthermore, I do not want to wait on a guy who hands me his cell phone so his friend can tell me what he wants on his sub, while I cradle it between my head and shoulder.
Although being a Subway employee had its downs, I learned to become a more patient and understanding person.
Patience was never my forte, but after waiting up to five minutes while someone stared at the menu, I learned to put the bread knife down so no one would get hurt.
Overall, I learned working as a reporter is more up my alley than enduring the career of a sandwich artist.
It’s true what they say: Do what you love and you will never work a day in your life. With that said, I can’t stress how much I did not feel the love for Subway.
It’s a bummer that I quit before coming back to school, though.
I didn’t even get to meet Jared.
