"What can I do to leave the house for a few minutes?" was the question I was asking myself on Saturday afternoon. Going to Publix supermarket to get a 12" sub sandwich and a six-pack of beer was what I decided to do. I hadn't had a sub from Publix in a good while and I haven't eaten at SubWay for a few months either as I had decided that SubWay was not all it claimed to be. In fact, my only sub sandwich experience in the last few weeks had been made up entirely of visits to the two Firehouse Subs locations in the area. The reason for this is quite simply explained by the fact that Firehouse makes the kinds of sandwiches I prefer. The majority of the sandwiches on their menu are hot and the ones that aren't hot seem to be slightly warmed. The bread and the quality of the meat and vegetables also always seem fresher at Firehouse. They're my favorite of the moment.
Saturday though, I had an urge for a sandwich from Publix. Firstly because I couldn't remember the last one I had eaten from Publix, but also (and not less importantly) I was going to buy some beer. While we were there the guy who made our sandwiches was a very talkative conversationalist. Before we left I knew that he played basketball, his daughter watched The Boondocks, he had gotten into playing Need For Speed: Underground thanks to the guy who fried the chicken in the Deli, and a few other tidbits about his life. It would sound as if he were an annoying person, but that would be the complete opposite. Some people could talk to me about the same things and I would want to put duct tape over their mouths and give them a stupid haircut, but there's something to be said about personality and composure. He was very charismatic for a guy who makes sandwiches at a supermarket. And I don't say that as a slight. I use to do his job for the same supermarket.
After getting my sandwich I went to the beer aisle. As I was in the mood for a sandwich I hadn't eaten in a while, I was also in the mood for a brew I hadn't drank in a few moons as well. I grabbed my six-pack and got into the checkout line. The young lady who rang up my groceries kept looking at my drink choice. She even pulled one of the bottles slightly out to look at the label. "What is this?" she said. I knew what the next question would be.
"Is there tequila in this?" she asked.
"No, it's just a beer with lime juice in it already," I said, as I've said a million times before to other people.
"The name would make you think there's tequila in it," she said.
I suppose the name Tequiza would make some people think that, but if you simply read the single sentence right underneath the name on the label you would know that there isn't. I think someday reading will catch on in the United States. But it may just be wishful thinking, like World Cup fever in the States.
After the routine Tequiza conversation and driving back to the apartment, I sat down to enjoy half of my sandwich and watch some of the NBA Finals analysis on ESPN. While I was eating my sandwich I thought about the guy who made it. "He was a pretty cool guy," I thought. It made me also think more about where I am. I use to do that job. Wearing the same shirt, the same hairnet, the same plastic gloves, the same kind of stupid name tag. And now it's been about four years since I've done that job and it was actually the last job I ever had involving any kind of food. I've come a ways since then, and it felt good to realize that. I'm sure most people have that feeling to some extent when they're going through the McDonald's drive-thru and they think about when they use to be the one with the headset, and now there working in a professional career in an office somewhere, a few leaps and bounds away from those days at the window. It's a good feeling.
But besides that, I thought that maybe the reason I liked the guy so much was because I could relate. Or at least I felt like we could relate to each other. The fact that he was doing something that I use to hate with a passion while I was doing it, but he was doing with a smile and a jovial manner also made me feel as if he was better than me in that respect. I could never act so light hearted when I was there, I was simply never thrilled about making people's food and the b.s. involved with such work. People treat you like dirt when you're the guy making their food for some reason. In my conversation with the guy and talking about our experiences in the job, I could tell he felt the same way about that aspect of things. It's probably why I have sympathy for the guy at McDonald's, or the young lady taking my order at Taco Bell. When you've been that person, it's much harder to be that guy who gives them sh*t about there not being napkins in the bag.
I can always tell who the people are who I work with who've never had that kind of job. The people in my office who never had to get a job while in college because their parents' paid their rent, their car payment, their tuition, their everything and even gave them cash and credit cards to spend as if they got a salary for doing nothing. Because they're the ones that I'll go to lunch with and have to hear them bitch about nothing, or what I perceive to be nothing. Call it my own prejudice because I've come from nothing, but I can never fully connect to those people. It's really a flaw of my own character, but I've always held a grudge against people who aren't ashamed to be of priviledge. There lack of humility seems to feed my unwarranted lack of acceptance. The fact that I honestly admit my flaw is really my only way of saying I know I'm wrong. But when I talk to people about this very subject I realize that I'm not the only one. Far from it, actually. Class, next to race, is still an issue amongst people. Because even when you become a person of wealth and priviledge you know who you really are and where you come from. Whereas a person who has never seen the bottom of the social ladder will never know those people. That's not meant as a condemnation, but simply a truth. It's quite a fascinating thing to roll around in one's head.
And to think, it all was the cause of buying a sub sandwich that I began to think about these things again. Good sandwich, by the way.
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