Between five to ten years ago, Subway was my favorite restaurant. Not just fast-food joints. Restaurant. Typically when I’m given the opportunity to be in charge, things turn out well. This phenomenon happens in many aspects of life but it definitely happened in sandwich-making. Subway gave me (and everyone else) that opportunity. While I’m sure some people resent the responsibility of taking charge of their sandwich contents, I reveled in it.
During the approximately ten-year stretch of my Subway worship, I’ve developed some strong feelings about what did and did not constitute a great sandwich, along with keen insights into people’s character based on witnessing thousands upon thousands of people go through the Subway assembly line.
Subway used to be a revered delight of mine before I got really freaking amazing at cooking. Seriously, all that bullshit that goes into being a Michelin-starred chef is just about their presentation. My nose tells me when chicken breast is perfectly cooked. I don’t need some uppity third-party to confirm my culinary competence.
After everyone found out that Jared belonged on Megan’s (not Angie’s) list, I feel like the franchise made a sincere effort to create a great product. A simple menu, great prices (notice how I didn’t say “price point”? That’s because I’m not an airheaded faggot. I know I’m a superGenius. I don’t need to use Economics Major Words to convince others of my superpowered synapses.), and good-enough ingredients. Now though?
About three months ago I went to Subway for the first time in some years and it was such a monumental disappointment.
First off, the menu is an Egyptian hieroglyphics tablet. Way too crowded and disorganized. That was disconcerting. What followed wasn’t much different. After about five minutes of strenuous menu decoding, I went with the rotisserie chicken, a novel offering. Spoiler alert, it was a great choice. What wasn’t great was the three-hundred-pound wetback capybara behind the glass. She had more arm hair than me and when I asked her to add spinach, she added about ten leaves which is about one-twelfth of what I vehemently demand in my Sandwich Creations. After asking her for more spinach four times, I had about a third of my preferred allotment of spinach. Usually, it takes just two pleadings to get all the way there. I really make the “Sandwich Artists” earn their sixteen dollars an hour. My sandwiches require a knife to fold before wrapping them. This particular rendition did not necessitate any utensil assistance to fold.
The morbid rodent lady making my Sandwich Creation wasn’t acquiescing to my insistence that my sandwich be stuffed to the gills. In today’s barren wasteland of fast-food laborers, Sandwich Artists have become Sandwich Taggers. People who denigrate the sacrosanct act of assembling the perfect combination of produce and processed meat between an encasement of sugar-infused carbohydrates. That’s actually the term that the Irish Supreme Court declared Subway “bread” to be. Glucose-infused Carbohydrates. Very fancy and scientific. Subway sugar-laced carbohydrates cause COVID. The Irish Supreme Court declared that as well. It means that the franchise has to pay more taxes. Anyways, the sandwich was nice, but compared to my cooking, it was bland.
Since Subway’s new menu is a jumbled mess that was probably made by a loud team of Puerto Ricans, I’m going to act like it’s 2015 in this foolproof psychological guide to people’s inner-being through their Subway preferences. It’s a dark art. A gift but also a curse. Seeing everything is seeing too much.
This field guide will go in order of the chain of events that Subway puts you through in its assembly line.
Bread
White (Italian)- You’re white. You like spaghetti that’s only seasoned with salted butter. With Prego tomato sauce. You’re not someone who grows tomatoes in your backyard and puts them in your food processor so that you get that authentic Italian sauce. Obviously, you don’t know how to cook. You think Morton and Bassett is a seafood restaurant. People that choose white bread are employees, not business leaders. They’ll dutifully show up to work and put up with an arduous commute but good luck asking them to come up with an idea and bring it to life on their own. People that get white bread at Subway are people who spend a day like this: eight hours sleeping, eight hours working, one and a half hours driving, three hours on a screen, fifteen minutes fucking, forty-five minutes walking (the dog, probably a misbehaved Beagle), thirty minutes complaining, an hour talking (not always to other people, sometimes half of that is to the dog), and one-hour shopping. Rick Sanchez would call these people “universe meat”.
Wheat- The opposite of “universe meat”. People that choose wheat bread at Subway are the people that own and operate businesses. You can trust that what they say they’re going to do, they’ll actually do. Like a Puerto-Rican, but the opposite. A person that orders wheat bread at Subway is a person who thinks that dying of the CoCo is a choice. A choice that you make every day by being a fat slob who can’t take care of yourself. Ron DeSantis is popular in the Wheat Bread Community.
Herb and Cheese- Decadent. Wild. Fun. A party. An American. You only live once so you might as well put cheese on everything, including the inside of pizza crust. You definitely don’t use condoms. If you’re a girl, you’re mildly offended when a guy acts all high-and-mighty and pulls a wrapper out of his wallet. You think that the guy suspects you of having Koala Klamydia. If you’re a guy, and a girl asks you to put a condom on, you slap the shit out of her (confident that no woman would talk about this incident) before immediately storming out of wherever the deed was about to be done. Chicks that order Herb and Cheese have had at least one abortion in their lives. Four if they live in California.
Honey Oat- This person buys bullshit with a smile on their face and complete certainty in their mind that what they believe is right and true. This person has a Dr. Anthony Fauci bobblehead in their living room. This person “believes in science”/ This person is fifty years old but eats Honey Nut Cheerios for breakfast. That nice little stamp of approval from the American Heart Association means that Honey Nut Cheerios are what skinless chicken breast actually is. This person thinks that going to a prestigious school means that you are omnipotent, completely incapable of making the errors in judgment that all people make. The guy that orders Honey Oat bread is the guy who remarried a more attractive woman, only to get divorced and see her get a boob job on his dime issued in the name of child support. A boob job, and much more.
Flatbread- This person has a lot of bumper stickers. They get pineapple on pizza. They wear beanies. They think the Pacific Northwest is a nice place to live. When they listen to Joe Rogan, they’re most interested when Joe talks to someone about aliens. If they’re vegan, they eat the pre-packaged vegan food. They don’t actually take the time to properly cook ten pounds of dry beans for the week. “Virtue Signaling” is a term that was created with this person in mind. Subway patrons who order flatbread don’t have thoughts and opinions. They have actions that portray the ideas that they want other people to believe. This person wears Tom's shoes even though “Adam Ruins Everything” exposed that company as a fraud. To flatbread orderers, it’s all about positive vibes, even if those positive vibes are to the detriment of the South Sudanese who survived civil war and Ebola to make their own shoe company. Most people who order flatbread that went to college graduated with a degree in Sociology and are big fans of the Twitter, although when you ask them about it, they “only use it for news”.
Meat
Tuna- You’re a dull version of someone who orders Herb and Cheese bread. You’re decadent but also have never had unprotected sex with someone you weren’t married to. You don’t believe in Jesus. You believe in Mayonaisse. Preferably Hellmann’s. Deviled eggs are a thing that you eat more than once every three years. When I immigrate to Europe, I’m going to spread vicious rumors about how Americans order footlong Tuna sandwiches with extra mayonnaise on top of the Tuna mixture that’s already half mayonnaise. Without seeing you, I can tell you’re fat just by the sound of your voice.
Ham- You’re my Mormon cousin who I always murder in chess even though he is a properly educated engineer. Lol, but seriously, you get stuck in intellectual positions a lot. Rather than admit that you were wrong as a five-year-old when you pronounced ham as your favorite meat, you lived the rest of your life keeping up your initial position that ham was the best sandwich meat because that’s preferable to admitting you were a retard when you were five, or that as you’ve gotten older, your preferences have changed.
Turkey- You’re my Dad! You’re someone who convinces themself that highly processed deli meat is good for you. You buy your own bullshit so much, that you choose turkey when chicken breast is the obviously superior option. You majored in English at a fancy university, but when you started your own business, you thought taxes were optional.
Roast Beef- You’re Ok with paying a little extra to get what you want. Whether that be a sandwich with salty red meat or a Chevy Silverado with a king cab. Although I don’t agree with how you live your life, I respect you. I understand that you do the things you do because you’re guided by sincere personal preferences. You aren’t someone who does things because that’s what projects the most ideal image to other people. Subway patrons who order roast beef sandwiches are people you can go to war with. Despite your inability to stick to rations, you’ll shoot someone in the head without the slightest hesitation if I tell you to shoot them. In this war analogy, I would be the supervising captain. I would be recognized for my cutthroat, efficient leadership and the government has bestowed me the honor of having my own squadron of death. We always meet our kills quota, and we don’t take prisoners. Instead of asking someone else to do it, I’m the one that takes care of the children. I’m a legitimate leader. Someone who is never too good for the tough work.
Chicken Breast- You are a leader of men and carpet-munching dykes, but not a leader of women. You know when to take a backseat to others but also when to step up and make your ideal course of action, the plan that's instituted. You’re naturally efficient. When you keep your mind clear and follow your gut, good things happen. When you were in middle school, you were the first kid off the premises when the closing bell rang. The parent picking you up never had to worry about being stuck in afterschool traffic. Sometimes, cutting corners gets you in serious trouble, but by and large, you typically come out ahead in the game of life. When someone who orders chicken breast at Subway says that something will happen, it happens.
Breakfast Sandwiches- This person realized that Subway somehow decided that breakfast sandwiches would be significantly cheaper. People who order breakfast sandwiches would be significantly cheaper. People who order breakfast sandwiches at six PM are the kind of people who aren’t afraid to do what they think is right, even when the rest of society places silent expectations on them. These are the kind of people who were going on long walks outside in April 2020 like it was February. At no point were they frantically washing every surface like their life depended on it. Breakfast Sandwichers are people who find a hack in the system, and mercilessly pound away at that flaw in the matrix. If James Harden didn’t turn into a Chihuahua that violently relieved itself during every single playoff series after he left Oklahoma City, he would be the basketball player equivalent of Subway breakfast sandwiches. However, this is reality so Little Game James Harden is the Subway Soups. Irrelevant. Only something that self-righteous, ugly, mathematicians order. Them or old ladies whose grasp on reality is tenuous at best.
Veggie- You’re an insufferable douchebag. You miss the point of a lot of things. You go places, but you don’t experience places.
Meatball Marinara- You’re a long-haul truck driver who frequents diner prostitutes just trying to get their next crystal meth hit. If those tweakers do a really good job, you reward them by slitting their throat, bleeding them out, and freezing them in your cab before dropping them off in some desolate part of Arkansas.
Chicken Teryaki- You’re one of those people who worships Asian culture and its genetically homogenous aesthetic. White guys who choose this option have Asian wives who they never say “no” to.
Italian Meats- This person has type two diabetes. They think Big Bang Theory is funny. Their laugh is more visceral than something genuine. Orderers of Italian sandwiches are the people who sell insurance and are happy to do it. Greasy sleazeballs who inevitably have a bunch of greasy little sleazeball kids. An infinite chain of mediocre nothingness.
Cheese
American- You’re definitely an American. Culture Swine. When I’m regaling a crowd of beautiful Europeans about what America is like, I’ll make sure to mention how people over there go to a sandwich shop whose business model is to give governance over each sandwich’s contents over to its customers. All in the spirit of American freedom and tax dodging. However, given that sandwich autonomy, Americans choose to have an untoasted tuna sandwich on white bread with American cheese, extra mayo, iceberg lettuce, and maybe some soggy olives. Maybe throw on some bacon when they feel like they’re rich. If Subway offered Fritos chips as an accouterment, the swine would enthusiastically choose that topping for their mayonnaise sandwich. My European audience would laugh enthusiastically and we would all bask in the merry cheer that my humor and provocative story-telling provide.
Provolone- You’re probably one of those Steph “Basketball Jesus” Curry blacks who are culturally caucasian. CJ McCollum is another example of this. CJ definitely adds provolone cheese to his sandwiches. People who add provolone are boring. They’re not wastes of space like the people who order sandwiches with Italian meat, they’re just boring. The world runs on boring people. Boring people just go through life. They don’t complain, they don’t break society’s laws for fun, and they don’t fuck their married neighbors because of proximity, convenience, and ease. We all need boring people. They drive commercial trucks, deliver our packages, stock our grocery shelves without losing their mind, and unloading an AR-15 into a crowd. The best worker at the best post office in my neighborhood is extremely boring. He’s worked at that post office for thirty years. His voice is beyond dead. You drown in the unfulfilled life aspirations of his life when he tells you what the best postage is. But you know what? He always shows up at that post office, and he knows everything there is to know about how I can mail a homemade porno to my friend in Las Vegas.
Pepper Jack- These patrons are people who either have latent culinary ability, or they’re already proficient cooks who just happen to be at Subway because they either don’t have time to cook at home, or couldn’t bring fresh ingredients on the road with them in a cooler. Cheese is a retardant of spice, but people who pick pepper jack are dreamers. They dare to cross boundaries and do what others think is impossible. Along the way to becoming higher beings, the fine people who order pepper jack have discovered a self-confidence in their own abilities that only comes with the experience of taking on a long, perilous, scary journey and completing it.
Cheddar- “The salt of the Earth.” There’s a law of diminishing returns in everything. At a critical point of intelligence, having more is unnecessary. What matters then, is having perseverance, courage, and mental toughness. People who choose cheddar cheese may not have been accepted to all the prestigious institutions of higher learning, but somehow they accomplished more after school than all of those uppity douchebags. These are the “early birds”. The people who open up the gym at 5:30 every weekday. You trust someone who orders cheddar cheese. Without these people, we have nothing.
Fixings
Bacon- If you get Subway’s bacon, you don’t respect bacon. You don’t have standards. Not with the quality of bacon that you consume, not with your partner’s attractiveness, and certainly not with yourself. You’re constantly just accepting whatever is easily available instead of working to make something worthwhile.
Avocado- You have serious credit problems. Spendthrift is a charitable word used to describe you. Financially reckless is more accurate.
Iceberg Lettuce- You buy all the government’s bullshit. Whether it be that nonsensical food pyramid or their public health propaganda. You’re gullible, and when a car salesman upsells you into poverty, you deserve it.
Spinach- You’re smart and not afraid to do something different if it means ostracizing yourself from the public consensus. Smart and brave. When you get tired, you know that the other people who are doing what you’re doing are on the doorstep of blacking out from exhaustion.
Tomatoes- Doing the easy things are easy for you. You don’t do stupid things like wearing long shorts with polos. Making awful fashion faux pas isn’t something you do.
Onions- Wild child. At house parties in high school, you’d always jump in the pool… naked.
Olives- You’re ugly.
Jalapeños- A lady in the street but a freak in the bed.
Banana Peppers- Confused. You deal with your problems by acting like they aren’t there, usually to your extreme detriment. You’re like some of the social justice warriors who don’t love their own kids. Too distracted by the latest incident of a policeman killing a Black to show the slightest interest in your own child. You married into wealth… inherited wealth. The kind of wealth that makes you feel guilty about it and thoroughly incapable of enjoying the pleasures of being rich.
Spices (salt, pepper, oregano, etc.)- You know the deal.
Oil, vinegar, mustard- You finish what you start. Strong follow-through.
Mayonnaise, Creamy Sriracha, Honey Mustard, Ranch- You discuss politics for fun. You think arguing over government process is the classy thing to do at a dinner table. Pretty awful. When you verbally volley back and forth with another moribund couple about abortion, you make sure to use the “correct terms”. Pro-choice, and pro-life. Of course, you’re pro-choice and think that all the pro-life patsies are redneck Jesus freaks who just haven’t been “educated”.