The smell of sandwiches tickles my nose as I stare blankly at the green and yellow poster plastered right across from me. I don’t have to read it to know what it says, I must’ve seen it like a billion times since I’ve started working here. It’s what I usually look at when I’m not really doing anything. And it’s the same words. The same slogan. Two ways to order! Get it fresh!
The Subway sandwich shop is hiss quiet, and nothing but the clattering of customers’ feet and the lowly voices of sandwich orders can be heard. There’s a couple sitting at a table right now doing their best to ignore everyone in the room. They’re whispering but it’s loud enough that I can kind of hear their conversation. Not that I’m trying to at least. They always come here every week and sit in the same spot. Their names are Ellis and Tristian, I think. I’ve just cashed in their orders and I’m already forgetting their names.
There are about three people in line waiting to make their orders. The door rings. Make that four. Mason’s making the sandwiches while I’m at the cash register, and for now, it’s just the two of us until the manager and another coworker come in. I know I should be assisting him but after the fiasco that I had with the two blonde girls that came in, I think I’ll hold back for a while.
Their names were Peyton and Jordan and they came in like four orders ago. They were dressed in tight jean shorts and paisley pink tops. They carried their purse around their wrists and sported huge sunglasses. Automatically from their demeanor, I could tell they were from northern Palvalla, the wealthier snobbier district of Palvalla. Their ostentatious arrogance was of no surprise considering they get their influence from Scottsdale.
“Welcome to Subway. What can I get you?” I asked.
The two dumb blondes stared at each other and grinned. Their teeth game was on point because it was shining like a shield against my eyes.
“Isn’t your mom like a nurse?” asked Peyton, the front blonde girl. I was surprised they even knew that.
“Was,” I said.
“Oh.”
Jordan snickered and covered her face.
“What?” I said bristly.
“Well…she wasn’t particularly good at her job was she?” Peyton purred.
Jordan cut in, sensing trouble. “We’ll take a cheesesteak sub.”
“No you won’t you bitch!” A tidal wave of anger rose through me. Hearing my mom insulted dug through me, especially after she just got sent to rehabilitation. I shoveled a clump of roast beef in my hands and threw it at Peyton’s face. Peyton cried out and Jordan covered her face again and turned around awkwardly. Mason ran into the room and apologized to the girls (why exactly? I still can’t figure it out) and he started to make their sandwiches. Mason might just be the biggest simp in the world. Anyways that was my encounter with those slobs and I hope to never go through it again.
My eyes backslide from the poster and onto my phone. I’m currently watching a Dominican Youtuber called Soyora. She makes animation videos and she’s pretty funny and weird. The room is pretty dim though, so it’s pretty hard to see the screen. Plus it doesn’t help that it’s stifling hot and I have to keep the volume pretty low.
I’ve thought about making videos myself but I’m just not that interesting enough. Renae tells me to just act normal and be myself but that’s not much help because my normal self is dull and boring. Well, It’s not really that boring to me. I just prefer keeping things conventionally simple, it’s safer that way I guess. Like I want to be a doctor so I can help people and I like talking to my small group of friends. I also try to get good grades so I can get into Arizona State, and getting a good job matters to me as well (though not this one).
I hate this job so much, but I don’t know how to quit or whether I should. I’ve run through like six jobs these last six months, and I’ve been here for like a month and I don’t really know if I want to break this streak. Honestly, I haven’t done a lick besides make the same sandwiches, and somehow, they still manage to come out wrong. We’ve gotten five callbacks this week from customers getting the wrong sandwiches.
“Reyes, get off your phone and take the next order!” Mason shouts. He’s staring daggers at me. Mason is a crabby thirty-year-old man with a tufty brown beard and a tattoo of a snake on his neck. He carries a strong twang and usually prefers to be alone when we’re not working. I don’t really know the fount for his bitterness but I can only guess that it’s because he’s committed his life to Subway for fifteen years of his life. At least that’s what he told me. He dropped out of high school, left his parent's house, and started working for Subway ever since. I can only imagine what kind of kid he must’ve been. Alone and misunderstood. Oh well, at least he cares about the customers.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I usually help Mason with the orders, but as I said, after that bad customer experience with those two random girls, it kinda threw my day off and made me want to cage myself at the cash register. Also, I’m just feeling particularly lazy today. It’s just one of those days. Maybe I will quit. I’ve eaten through enough Subway sandwiches to last me a lifetime anyway.
Grumbling, I walk over to the teenage boy with glasses. He’s been waiting patiently for about five minutes while Mason was making a chubby lady’s endless list of footlongs. He has a lot of blistering acne on his face and eyebrows so thick they almost seem to form a unibrow.
“What would you like?” I ask. My gaze slides back to the poster. I don’t like eye contact.
“Umm, I’ll just have a meatball sub.”
I open the glass panel full of bread. “Right, uhm…”
I look at the loaves of bread and blank out.
“Look, I’ll have the Italian herb,” the boy says wearily. “Can you make it quick? There’s other people in the line.”
Mason pulls me aside.
“Ok, what’s going on?” he hisses. “Why haven’t you been picking up the orders? I thought you wanted to work here.”
“I do,” I say. I don’t.
"Aren't you trying to save up money for you and your sister?”
“I am.”
“Then why are you slacking? I’m gonna have to put in a bad word for you with the manager. Go outside and take a five. I want you back and ready to work, got it?” His eyes are blazing. I’ve never seen him this angry before.
I take my bag and go to the back of the store. I take off my black subway shirt and substitute it with my baggy white shirt. Then I toss my hat aside and replace it with a white baseball cap. It has an O with a slash across it. I always wear it in case it gets lost, and honestly, I can never go anywhere without it. It was my dad’s before he was shot in a drive-by shooting.
I sit by a curb, wistfully staring at the hot summer sky. I feel for my pack of cigarettes, slip out a piece, and light it. I guess that’s one thing I got from my mom. Mom. I miss her. She hasn’t been the same since dad died. In fact, she’s been drinking a lot, smoking a lot of crack, and getting incredibly violent. We’ve lost the house due to foreclosure and my mother’s being rehabilitated in an institution in the downtown area. I live in a trailer park with Renae now.
A speck of cigarette dust sprinkles over my ripped jeans as I blow a thin cloud. I flick the thin black curls out of my eyes. A lot of people seem to think I’m mixed but I’m actually Dominican. I don’t know why they see that but I can assume it’s probably the way I dress. Always in baggy shirts, ripped jeans, and a hat to top it off. It appears a bit urban. Hell, some people even think I act like a tomboy. I don’t. Do I? I tried to be when I was seven but that was only because I was trying to impress a boy I liked.
I spot Soliya coming out of Chipotle right across the street. That’s where she usually works, it must be her break time. She’s gotten inside her car. I follow her before she drives off. But she stays parked. The thing is, she’s kind of my ride. I've known her since Freshman year.
“Break time already?” I say to her. The smoke from my mouth furls into her car.
“Oh hey, Reyes!” Soliya is an Indian girl with a rather flat rectangular face. “Yeah, I know! I’m pretty hungry though. Would you like a burrito? I have two.”
I sit in her car and we share the burritos. The next I thing I know we’re zooming through the clock laughing and talking about our coworkers and the people from school.
“Do you know Matthew Coleman? From chemistry? He works here. And he has a kid now.”
My face drops. “No way! Really?”
“Yeah, I heard him saying that he was trying to save up for a new apartment with the baby since his girlfriend cheated on him.”
“What did his parents say?” I ask.
I see a dotted red liquid on Soliya’s bitten burrito. “There’s something on your burrito by the way.”
But Saliya starts to cough before she can respond. Then she coughs again. Red spit is spreading all over her dashboard.
“What the hell is going on?” She groans.
My mouth moves but I can’t seem to find the words. Suddenly Soliya’s coughing uncontrollably until her head falls on the steering wheel, unleashing a terrible honking sound. I gently pull her head back. Lumps of blood have dribbled out of her mouth and her eyes are no longer mobile.
I step out of the car and belch. Then I walk back into the Subway.
The lights are dim and blinking. I see the couple that had been eating at the table earlier are standing up. But they look different this time. Pale, rugged, and deadlier. I hear a deep raspy drone approach me. But it’s not coming from the couple. It’s coming from Mason.
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