A Rant About Subway Sandwiches

I have a few close friends who have heard me give the Subway sandwiches rant. The reactions I get from people are mostly disgust or disbelief. Apparently I’m one of the few people who does not like Subway.

Before I go into my rant, let me just state that this has nothing to do with getting bad service at a Subway restaurant. I’m not about to shit on some zit-faced teenager who didn’t take my coupon (I was once that zit-faced teenager, so I’m allowed to say that). My rant is more about the business model itself and its effect on people like me. 

Anxiety and decision paralysis

I suffer from mild to moderate anxiety, with the occasional swing into severe. I didn’t always know this about myself, in fact it’s only been a few years where I’ve fully grasped what anxiety even means and been able to identify it in myself when it happens. This knowledge has helped explain a lot of things for me. Like why I often freeze or can’t think straight when in a crowd of too many people or with too many stimulants like casinos and any store in the month of December.

The same thing happens when I’m presented with a long list of things to choose from, like at the nail salon. This is inevitably followed by decision paralysis.

“Ok hun, what colour of nail polish do you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know? What colours do you have?”

“Well that depends on what kind of polish you want, shellac or regular?”

“Umm, I don’t know the difference, sorry.”

“Ok, shellac will last longer.”

“Sure, that one.”

“Ok, just pick a colour out of this box of 150 colour choices. I’ll just stare at you and wait until you decide.”

Don’t panic. You can do this. Oh no…they have names too. What if I like a colour that has a weird name that I don’t like and then I have to start all over again. Shit, she’s still staring at me. 

“There’s so many choices!” I say with an awkward laugh and a small smile. “Maybe you can get started and I’ll keep looking?”

I almost always pick a colour I end up hating and then aggressively pick it off 2 days later (I should have just picked the regular nail polish). I then wonder why I ever get manicures in the first place. Then, months later I will see a friend with freshly painted nails and I think That’s so nice, I should treat myself to a mani, and the cycle continues.

I’m slowly learning to accept my anxiety for what it is and adjust my lifestyle accordingly. I’m attempting to reduce the amount of worry that I have to process on a daily basis. This includes small things like taking control over what I eat so I don’t have to worry about where my cow came from and if it had a good life before it became part of my fajitas, unsubscribing from all things social media for obvious reasons, and being much more choosy about the people I keep close to me.

In the case of the food I eat, I’ve almost completely eliminated fast food from my diet for the general reason that I’ve worked in the fast food industry and putting the label “fresh” on anything sold at a fast food restaurant should be illegal. It’s not fresh, just stop pretending. I say almost because I’ve stopped torturing myself with guilt over eating things I don’t consider to be part of my diet. Instead, I just try to select the places where I don’t want to vomit after eating the food and can enjoy it for what it is, not fresh food.

My favourite food author Michael Pollen says it quite well:

“Everything in moderation, even moderation”. 

Michael Pollen, Author

I just want the sandwich

So back to Subway. I grew up in a rural area with no amenities, or at least there were amenities and then they all closed down by the time I got to highscool, so now there are none. Most of my friends throughout highscool lived in a neighbouring small town with a few fast food restaurants, an arena and not much else, at least from a teenagers perspective. We spent most of our time either at the arena playing hockey (or watching the highschool boys team play better hockey) or hanging out at one of the fast food places. Our favourites were Tim Hortons and Subway. The “we” here is the collective “we”, I despised Subway from the first time I tried it.

I think Subway was relatively new to the town. It was inside one of the local Mac’s convenience stores. You had to go inside Mac’s to get to the Subway. My friends and I had just gotten high in one of our usual dark corners, reserved for hooligans and spiders, and sauntered into the Mac’s to satisfy our munchies. My friends had more munchies than usual this time so we shuffled over to the Subway side of the store and gazed in awe at the selection of delicious subs on the menu. 

Me: “Oh my god, I’m so hungry and that all looks so good!”

Friend: “Right! I know exactly what I’m getting.”

Me: “Oh man, I have no idea what to get. What should I get?”

Friend: “I’m getting the Sweet Onion Chicken Teryaki”

Me: “Oooo that does sound good. OK I think I’ll try the Italian BMT.”

My friend orders and moves down the line. I go next. “I’ll have the Italian BMT please”

The guy behind the counter takes a deep breath and says: “Sure, what kind of bread do you want?”

“Oh, um. Whatever comes with that sub is fine.”

“You have to pick your own bread.”

“Oh wow, I didn’t think about that. OK, Um, what are my options?”

Another deep breath and he lists off the breads. I pick one, who cares which at this point, but I eventually picked one.

“Do you want that toasted?”

“Does the sub taste better that way?”

“I guess. It’s up to you.”

Oh my shit, I just want the sub I picked. Just make me the sub.

“Sure, I’ll have it toasted thanks.”

I slide over to my friend who seems to be talking to her guy behind the counter. Then my guy catches up to me and KEEPS ASKING ME QUESTIONS.

“What kind of cheese do you want?”

Now I’m starting to sweat. This is intense. I was not prepared for all these questions. What if I make the wrong decision? I don’t know how to make a sandwich, that’s why I came HERE! 

“Um, orange?” (because my knowledge of cheese is based on colour at this point in my life, and he understands. I guess Subway knows it’s clientele).

“Ok, what else do you want on it?”

At this point I’m not even sure I want a sub anymore. On and on he asks me questions. What kind of bread? What kind of cheese? Veggies? Sauce? HOW MUCH SAUCE? Salt and Pepper? I’m so exhausted at the end and have no idea what I just created that I am almost afraid to eat my sub. Without question, it was disgusting, and I was so sad that I spent my hard earned money on this stupid sandwich when I could have just bought a pack of chips and a candy bar.

The sacred sandwich

I can’t speak for all anxious people out there. I’m sure lots of you absolutely adore Subway sandwiches. As I’ve gotten older (ie adulted) I’ve learned how to use recipes to prepare food that I actually enjoy eating. Food is sacred to me now. I rarely go out to eat, but when I do it’s for the joy and ease of not having to make the food myself.

So I simply cannot understand why I would pay someone to have me tell them how to make me a sandwich. When I go to a restaurant, I want to be treated to recipes that the restaurant has carefully crafted and now wants to share with the world. What I don’t want is to have to tell the person behind the counter not only what to put on my sandwich but how. If that’s the case, I’ll make my own sandwich, thank you very much. And it’ll be damned good.

Rant over.