Pastrami? What's That?

I just received confirmation that our society is doomed!

Today I decided to stop at the Subway Restaurant that's on my way home from work to get a sandwich. I had stayed late, was tired and I happen to really like Subway sandwiches. Their honey oat bread is fantastic and, because they bake it on-site, it's always very fresh and tasty. (If that's just a marketing ploy and they really don't make it fresh, don't tell me. I'm convinced I'm eating fresh bread and I want to continue living the delusion.)

I decided to order their new, highly promoted "Pastrami Piled High" sandwich. I've had it before a couple of times and, although it's a bit spicy, I enjoy having something different once in a while. And there aren't a lot of places that offer a pastrami sandwich around here.

So I approached the 18-something guy behind the counter and said, "I'm going to get a 12-inch on honey oat." He grabbed the bread and I said, "pastrami."

"Oh, what's that?" he asked. "What kind of meat goes on that?"

I said, "pastrami."

He turned to his female co-worker and asked her, "What goes on a pastrami?"

She came over and they both started looking at all of the trays and containers, trying to figure out what the heck pastrami is. He pointed at a stack of circular meats and asked me, "Is this what goes on it?"

"No," I said, "that's salami."

He turned to look at the menu board behind him and saw the big sign that says "Pastrami Piled High." "Oh, is that what you want?" he asked?

"Yep."

His co-worker realized they keep that in the back, so she went and grabbed the right plastic tub and finally the construction of my sandwich began. I thought my adventure in dumb-dumb land was over, but not quite. I moved down the line to the register, where the co-worker rang up my order. $6.69 was the total with tax. (Wow, that's an expensive sandwich, isn't it?) I handed her $7. The register showed that she owed me 31 cents in change, but she just stood there looking very confused. The only thing I could surmise is that she didn't quite know how to count out 31 cents. It took her a long time! She handed me two dimes, a nickle and six pennies. I'm serious!

The adventure was complete when my sandwich-maker guy got a phone call on his cell and decided to answer the phone instead of finishing my order. He did manage to hold the phone to his ear with his shoulder, and the extra time my cashier took to count out 31 cents gave him the time he needed to wrap up my sandwich and put it in a plastic bag. No napkins.

See what I mean? American society is doomed! But the sandwich was pretty good. I just wish I didn't have to wipe my mouth on my sleeve!