Thursday, February 23, 2012

Public Transportation Shouldn't Make Food

I hate Subway.  Not the underground public transportation in New York.  I'm talking about the chair restaurant that makes cold cut sandwiches and markets them for being healthy.  Okay, so, simple solution, I just don't eat there, right?  Wrong.  It's the only sub place on campus, which means when I'm craving a sandwich, it's my only option.  (Even more support for my women-should-make-sandwiches-in-the-kitchen movement; I can make a turkey club a hell of a lot better than Subway can.) 

So I guess I could just find somewhere else to eat on campus, but instead I'm just going to complain.  What is their bread made out of?  It always feels stale.  It has zero taste, aside from the cheese and "herbs" they bake on top, which I'm convinced isn't real either.  It's probably plastic cheese and grass cut up to look like herbs.  I never feel like I've just eaten a healthy turkey-on-wheat lunch after consuming a footlong.  Oh, well, obviously because I ate the entire footlong and so obviously I feel like Big Bertha all up in my jeans.  Wrong.  I feel like I ingested sponge-bread and a barrel of nitrates that they probably marinated that ham in before slicing it.  And why do none of the employees know moderation with toppings?  I either get one lonely pickle on my meal-between-buns or an entire pickle barrel.  It's a little obnoxious.  I'm going to start specifying the exact number of toppings I would like.  "Yes, three tomato slices, one shake of salt and pepper, 20 shreds of lettuce... NO, that's 21, I said 20!  And eight black olives."  

I think I'm also just weird and picky about food.  There are plenty of times I crave shrimp or lobster ravioli, but I dislike both of those foods.  Any time I eat a brownie or a cookie I want to dip it into a cold glass of milk, but any time I actually give in and try it, I realize, yet again, that I hate milk.  I'm definitely a freak of nature for craving things I don't even like.  Did I mention milk comes from cow boobs.  As in, the breasts of cows.  Cow titties.  The things teenage female cows flash at Cow-Mardi-Gras to get more cowbell... and you want to drink that?  Disgusting. 

And now I'm going to wrap this up before all the real annoyances of my day peep in... like AdSense being a complete toolbag or nonsense power trips crampin my style. 


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