Can't You See the Real Me?

This just in from the I'm Not Long For This World File, Restaurant Division:
Today I was at Subway for lunch and this lady (looking very unJared-like) lost it in the line. Wait, I don't mean she vomited or anything. I mean she exploded at the foodworker.

Allow me to set the scene. There were oh, 30 people in line; out the door and down the sidewalk. I was wistfully watching my lunch half-hour ticking away on the clock above which looked very much like a refugee from a Service Merchandise closing-forever-sale. This lady was wearing an atrocious wig; the kind that reminds you why our forefathers began calling them rugs. Because this one looked just like the jet black carpet I always wanted in my room when I was a kid and my mom gave me the I-wish-psychotherapy-wasn't-of-the-devil look. She had on a black tent dress with a cheetah collar and some clashing Easy Spirits. Her sandwich had been breaded, cheesed, toasted, and piled on and was awaiting the dressing. She made her call and as soon as the foodworker squeezed on the Chipotle something-or-other dressing (one day you will bear the full brunt of my opinions on Chipotle (let's just say, I'll bet it originated in Canada)), the lady went ballistic.
"Nooo!!!"
"But ma'am. You said Chipotle crap dressing!"
"Why do you people always spread it on the cheeeese side??!! I don't want it on that side!"
"OK. It's just how we're trained to make them. I'll be happy to..."
"Well that's stupid!! Who would train someone to make a sandwich that way!! It's stupid!!"

I wasn't far from the scene, so I felt compelled to intervene. But on which side? As a working stiff, I was sympathetic to the foodworker and, in fact, I'm in there so much I know the whole gang and occasionally get comped drinks. But at the same time, I felt empathy for the gal. This was obviously not about some Chipotle dressing. I was nudged by an unseen hand (my mom would say The Spirit) to walk over to her and put an arm around her and say, "Is your brother-in-law getting married, too?"

And then it happened. She made a boo-boo. I was all ready to be on her side until she pulled out a checkbook. A checkbook. It's 2006. Nobody writes checks anymore. And if I feel like writing a check out of nostalgia, I don't do it when there are 500 people waiting to eat on their 30 minute lunch break.

Of course, I brightsided it. It made me fell all that much better when the foodworker saw me and smiled and started fixing my lunch without asking what I wanted, knowing I would pay in cash with exact change. But Edna, wherever you are, thanks for a lively afternoon. I hope it got better for you.