Alright, painfully-white-guy-at-Subway, I know that you probably have no idea what it is like to work at Subway because you were an over-privileged sack of shit in high school. I’ll give you a hint: it’s not fun. It’s the antithesis of fun. You’re putting meat on bread all day. Then school let’s out and since you work at the Subway located next to one of the most central transit centers in Brooklyn, you deal with a bunch of obnoxious fucking kids who are giggling and screaming instead of ordering and eating.

You wanna take a stab at what the three underpaid, under-appreciated women working at Subway today don’t need? You, you fucker, and neither do I. So please don’t stroll up to the counter in your bright red fleece and cargo pants and start shooting the shit with them. I know you probably think that using the Ladies of Subway as a captive audience for the third time in your entire life in which you attempt to flirt with a girl is good thinking, but just stop it. People want to eat, and no one wants to hear your bullshit.

“9-Grain wheat? I didn’t even know there was more than one kind of grain!!”

and I hope you choke on the other 8.

“Why yes, I will have it toasted. But only so long as you’re careful!”

Oh, your chivalry knows no bounds, Sir White! Surely this lovely lass will swoon any second now and you may vault over the sandwich counter to catch her before she hits the ground. Your sexual superiority over the 13-year-old customers and myself will be absolutely rock solid after such a feat.

“Let’s do just a smidge of olives. Just a smidgeon. A dash, if you will.”

Aaaaand fail. “smidgeon”? Really? If you’re going to shoot yourself in the foot with a word like that, try not to cut it off afterward by defining what the word smidgeon means. Jesus christ. You look like a guy in a fucking powertool commercial, you’re wearing a fleece, and you’re delaying my order. Wipe that grin of your face and get down to business. Lupita over there doesn’t want anything to do with you. She’s smiling because she DOESN’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY.

Yes, I am using the chair next to me and no, no one else is joining me. You know why I’m using my chair? Because that’s where my jacket is. I realize it’s the last chair in the entire establishment and that’s precisely why I put my jacket on it. I don’t want you to sit here because it will end in a felony. Get your sandwich to go and get the hell out of the store.

Also, to the (other) white guy in the actual subway, fuck you too. When I am standing in front of the doors waiting for them to open so I can get on the train, this is not a signal for you to occupy the one foot of space between me and the door. That’s the yellow line, it means caution, and it’s serious business. Nice job getting the last seat on the train though, you’re a real winner. I’d assume you worked in the financial sector except for your general appearance and severe lack of hygiene. Eat shit.

Love,

Neil