calories out, calories in

i am a sweaty pig.

yep, i finally put my bouncy adidas to use. i told myself (i'm not ashamed to admit i talk to myself.) that i will use these spiffy new shoes only when working out. so, after eating like a horse today, i decided i'd put in some quality time on the treadmill before playing with this evening's makeup order.

when i left the apartment an hour ago, one of the rowdy neighbors from across the hall (breezeway, technically) had his grill out and flames were licking a rack of ribs. (i guess he missed that "no personal grills" clause in the rent agreement.) when i returned five minutes ago, he was working on enough burgers for a family of six. so, either one of my neighbors is hosting a tapeworm, or else they've moved their "gathering" night up from saturday this week.

speaking of food, i'm proud to report that i did not go to subway- er- a random sub shop- this evening, partially because i'm broke, partially because there's no way to top last night's experience, and (most importantly) because i was already scheduled to dine at keith and rhonda's.

which brings me to last evening's saga (previously sent out into the great unknown less than 24 hours ago....about the time i hit "publish post").......

after work yesterday (and passing out catalogs in the rain), i was too tired to drive all the way to the grocery store, and too uninspired to create some sort of palate-pleaser from the three items in my freezer (chocolate fudge brownie frozen yogurt, green corn tamales, and random stir fry vegetables). so, since i had cash on me (a rarity), i headed over to the local sub shop to pick up dinner. (taco bell was a tempting thought, but i'm trying to be vaguely health-conscious in an attempt to maintain my semi-sleek physique....or at least keep my butt from expanding too rapidly.)

the good news: the "help wanted" (scribbled in crayon) sign is down, so they've hired somebody- unless, of course, management has decided a sign written in magic marker would be more effective.

the not-so-good news: if one of the new hires was present last night, i'm afraid they didn't strike me as being the brightest shirt in the closet.

when i entered the store, there was one other customer- a lady who was picking up some sort of footlong for someone else. her sub was being constructed by a dude i'd never seen before, but he looked like he knew what he was doing. i was not lucky enough to have this quality of service.

while the dude was making my predecessor's sandwich, another employee wandered out from the back and asked what sort of bread i wanted for my subs. (only one was mine, but i'm trying for that coveted "girlfriend of the year" award, so i figured i'd bring the second one home.) once my bread selection was established (that took a few tries, since they were out of my first and second bread choices), i was asked three different times what meats i wanted in my subs. (by this point, i was trying to use words of no more than two syllables, lest i confuse the poor girl.)

around this time, a police officer came in and took his place in line behind me. not only did the dude greet this new customer, but he also began reciting every little tidbit of police jargon stored in his mental recesses. (the collection was probably culled from various episodes of "21 jump street", "starsky and hutch", and "law and order".) perhaps five minutes after the cop's entrance, a preteen boy joined the queue.

upon completion of the sub before mine, the dude was summoned to the phone. apparently, his "baby mama" was on the line. however, the dude was a multitasker! he could converse with "baby mama" while slinging lunchmeat! with the phone firmly attached to his right ear, he asked the preteen what kind of sub he'd like. as he began constructing the six-inch masterpiece, the bright spark putting my sandwiches together asked the cop what he'd like. so, suddenly my "sandwich artiste" (yes, that was intentional) was making not only my two footlongs, but a 6 inch turkey sub, as well. (meanwhile, a third employee was taking care of the bread shortage.)

wait- it gets even better.

thunderstorms had been in the forecast all afternoon, but the clouds only sprinkled until about 7:00- when i was reviewing the important "register closing instructions" i'd seen the evening before. while i was suppressing the urge to grab their red crayon and edit the "register closing instructions", my sandwich artiste was applying half a bottle of mayonnaise to my sub. (either she thought i could use the extra fat, or else she was too sidetracked attempting to flirt with the police officer- i'm not sure which.) i stopped her before she began squirting mayo all over the outside of my bread. (don't get me wrong- i like mayo as much as the next girl- but i like my arteries, too.) as she stood with the mayonnaise bottle hovering over the cop's sandwich, there was a huge thunderclap and the lights went out.

chaos ensued.

the preteen hit the floor, like he'd just heard a gunshot, and crawled toward the door on his belly. (it's not the best neighborhood, but i didn't think it was that rough.)

the two female employees screamed and hid in the back room.

when the power went out, "baby mama" was no longer on the other end of the phone, which the dude kept trying to turn back on.

the cop took it all in, while i was busy trying to figure out the location of the sub shop second-closest to my home for the next time i had a sub craving.

a couple of moments later, the dude told the girls to lock all the doors, since it seems "this store gets robbed every time the power goes out." the girls were not thrilled with this idea, so the three of them ran to the back, where they secured the back door together. mid stride, the dude inquired whether anyone in the store had a cell phone so he could call his boss and ask him what to do next. (at least that's what i think he said, as one of the females was busy screaming after every little thunderclap ("my family has a good history of lightning.", she explained after she'd calmed down.), and the other one was yelling something about how she was pregnant and didn't need the stress and wanted to close up the store and go home for the evening.)

when the construction of our sandwiches resumed, we were told that the artiste would sprinkle on the salt and pepper seperately, because she couldn't tell which was which in the dark.

the power outage presented an additional problem. while i'd already been charged for my dinner, the police officer had not. first, the dude tried to tell him that his sub would be on the house, because they couldn't use the cash register. however, he declined this offer, which meant somebody would have to figure out how much he'd have to pay. you would think these folks had been asked to do advanced calculus with a pencil and a post-it note. the menu price of this sub was $3.29. one employee figured the total was around 4 bucks. the artiste came up with $3.30. the cop handed over $3.50, which amounted to my figure, plus a nickel tip.

wow.

as soon as my sandwiches were bagged, i headed for the (locked) front door at rapid speed.

i am so glad i didn't apply for that job.

(this story seemed much funnier in its original incarnation, so i apologize if this version didn't live up to the hype. i'll try to do better next time.)