For lunch, I got my sandwich on at Subway. Everyone always seems pissed at that place. The customers are agitated because they are in a hurry. Subway employees are either stoned college students with bad attitudes or middle-aged functioning alcoholics that hate their lives. It always seems that my sandwich is being rushed through the construction process, too. I am always getting yelled at from the toppings station: “What do you want on the spicy?” I am sorry, but I do not feel good about my sandwich unless I see the toppings being applied. One of those fucking junkies could be out of their mind and slip some onions or olives into my sub. Then, when I pull out my credit card to pay and ask for stamps, the people in line behind me have conniption fits. Hey mister and misses irritated corporate executive, a credit card is a widely used monetary unit and I collect sub stamps in order to one day obtain a free sandwich. I am poor, I do not carry cash and I like free shit, so quit getting your panties in a twist. I should have just gone to Quiznos with Jake.