Exercise in Self Control

I walked into the Subway sandwich shop last night at about 7 p.m. As I entered the shop I first noticed that the floor was wet. A glance to the left educated me as to why. "It" was mopping the floor. I was then greeted by "it". (An "it" is an individual whose gender can not be determined.) "It" said hello to me in a level tone that gave no indication of whether or not "it" had a Mr. Winkie or not. "It" was thick around the middle with a loose shirt on. The shirt either served to hide male fat rolls or to camouflage female boobies. "It" also had short, dark curly hair, dark skin, and was sporting quite a hair lip. That last physical trait really helped add to my confusion. I began to ponder these physical traits as I slowly walked to the sandwich counter. I thought surely! NO self-respecting female would EVER look in the mirror, seeing such hair above the lip, and EVER be seen in public. My thoughts were proved wrong.
It seems as though my entrance interrupted a very important and lively conversation between "it" and a lady whose name tag identified her as "Linda", who was behind the counter. "It" was identified as Carla during the course of the conversation. Unfortunately I was subjected to many more details of Carla's life than anyone seeking a mere sandwich should ever be. It must also be noted that while I stood there, being the ONLY customer in the store, Linda continued to talk to Carla while moving at the pace of a tortoise and the mental speed of a dodo bird.
Linda inquired as to which type of bread I wanted, then informed they were out of it. I chose another and told her I wanted a turkey sandwich. Linda opened the bread and placed my selection of cheese on the bread. Linda continued talking to Carla during this time. Evidently the task of talking AND making a sandwich simultaneously was too taxing on Linda's cognitive abilities. Linda then looks down at my sandwich, which has no meat on it at this point, and asks me what toppings I'd like on it.
Now, while it may suprise you, I am not a sandwich artist or expert. However, I am familiar with the highly evolved custom of Subway sandwich creation. This extremely sophisticated scheme goes: cheese, meat, toppings. Intense complexity is obviously involved. I'm sure Subway employees are trained extensively on the vast importance of this chain of sandwich creating events. However it was at this point that Linda looks up at me with two blank eyes and asks, "What kind of sandwich was this again?"
This question was posed to me after standing there for no less than 15 minutes listening to Carla's stock market tips and political stances. Okay, that's a lie. I might've been amused by that type of conversation. I was actually listening to what Carla had to drink while she was in the hospital. (What the?!!!) Unfortunately I also learned why Carla is so "thick". She doesn't eat 'real' food. She goes to the store and buys junk food and that's all she eats. Aren't you all glad to know that? Boy, I sure am. How could I have gone through the rest of my life not knowing all about Carla's hospital escapades and dietary habits??!!! Gosh. What a dark exsistence I'd have without that enlightenment. I also learned how much Linda and Carla make an hour and how long each had worked there.
As Linda's question reached my ears I realize that this was a test. It must surely be. Would I pass, or fail miserably? This was a test of my quality as a human being. How would I respond? With all the sarcasm and clenched teeth that were boiling inside me? Or with a calm smile and cheerful answer? As the clock ticked by and I had now been in the company of Linda and Carla for 30 minutes longer than anyone should ever be forced to endure I answered Linda's question. "Turkey" I said with a straight face whilst searching her eyes for some hint of intelligence. Well, as you can guess, the search came up short. Very short.
Finally after paying for my sandwich and wondering why I was paying them, when indeed I should have been paid for my wasted time, I left the Subway. As I stepped outside outside into the cool air I had a renewed sense of self and purpose. Okay, not really. I was just pretty damned glad THAT was over with.