We’ve all been exposed to horrors in our lives, but there can be no more severe a horror than the silent terror that a person experiences in a drab confines of a Subway restaurant as they are forced to observe a ‘sandwich artist’ (SA) truly butcher the art of making a foot-long sub. I’ve seen some truly horrendous travesties take place from the other side of the glass-enclosed counter since first tasting the sugary blandness of a Subway roll just outside a Red Indian (sorry, Native American) Reservation in the United States in 1999 while on holidays with my parents, perpetrated by people who should know better (as it’s their job, for fucks sake).

There are three main stages to making a foot-long that serve as handy reference points. From these three points alone it’s simple to ascertain whether or not the person making the roll has a serve methamphetamine addiction or not.

1)      Their slicing of the roll

Sounds simple enough, right? Not exactly rocket-science and should be a straightforward process. WRONG! I’ve seen knife in too high, knife in too low, even knife not deep enough into the roll. The worst of all, however, is when the SA rips the roll open too aggressively, irrevocably tearing the top half of the bread, meaning that all the filling falls out when you pick it up and try to eat it. You can’t build a good foot-long on a shaky foundation…

2)      Their placement of the stuff you choose to go in it.

One of the things that sets a good sub apart from a bad sub is the all-important placement of your lettuce/tomato/cheese etc. in the roll. The key is the even distribution of all the relevant ingredients, noting that the profile should be uniform from one end of the roll to the other. Again, not brain surgery, but I’ve lost count of the amount of times that I’ve helplessly watched on as those SA cunts have chucked fistfuls of olives up one end of my roll and fistfuls of jalapenos down the other with little to no chance of the two ever meeting each other, like the mistress and the housewife. Charlie Bucket’s ramshackle crack-den of a house in Charlie & the Chocolate Factory had more structural integrity than some of the abject horrors I’ve had to digest…

3)      Their finishing manoeuvres.


/end communication