The Twelve-Inch Allure

We've been duped, guys. Brainwashed. We've accepted a disservice as a norm. Most of you don't even realise the disservice you're receiving but I have personally never taken a stand for it. I, however, am only an island of a man and it takes more than one man to break a norm. So I invite you all to take a stand with me against Subway.

Yes, Subway.


Many years ago when I first experienced Subway, I was posed the question "6-inch or foot-long". I'm trying to remember what I actually opted for. Part of me thinks that the six days-a-week basketball-playing speedy metabolism teenager would have gone for the foot-long. What I do remember distinctively is that, rather than going for a sub on the menu, I  literally hand-picked the ingredients I wanted then got a metaphorical smack to my face in the form of how much it cost. Pride intact, I of course paid up. I digress.

As the years rolled on, on the very rare occasion I would go to Subway, I'd opt for a 6-inch and I think, until November of 2012, I probably hadn't got a foot-long Sub from Subway in five years (I prefer to get a salad from there.). But in the event that I do opt to order a foot-long sub, I expect a foot-long. Not a foot long that has been cut to serve as two 6-inch subs. A foot-long. If I wanted two 6-inch subs, do you not think I would request that?!  There's just such an allure about eating a foot-long sub, I can't describe it, I can't even think of anything to compare it, though I do remember my annoyance in the early years when I ordered a whole chicken at Nando's and was presented with four individual pieces. 
Nonetheless, I return on the topic of what followed from here; three individual distressful incidents...

Incident #1
After a cinema trip, I was peckish starving. Co-op had no chicken that I fancied. So I opted for a Sub. A foot-long sub. I selected a Hearty Italian, to be informed by a Sandwich Artist (did you know that's the name of their job role? I didn't) that it was the last of it's kind. Alarm bells already ringing. Something would go wrong, I just knew it. I clearly verbalised to him that I did not wish for my foot-long sub to be cut.

Fast forward. Unbeknown to me, due to being in conversation with my friend, my Sandwich Artist has handed the task of completing the preparation of my Sub to Sandwich Artist #2. As he asks me what salad I want, what did he do? HE CUT MY SUB. I explode which, in hindsight, was quite the overreaction but at the time it was the frustration of
1) Knowing it was the last bread of it's kind
2) Clearly stressing on more than one occasion that it wasn't to be cut.

Really my frustration should have been at the original Sandwich Artist for not relaying the information to #2 but, alas, our ability to think sensibly is severely hindered when under the influence of rage. The conclusion of this situation was having my sub remade. Sadly, this wasn't to be with my first choice bread. Furthermore, a flat out refusal of a discount/goodwill gesture as a consequence of being unable to fulfil my order. Bah, humbug.

Incident #2
I spent thanksgiving in New York City and, as one does, my friend and I popped out for a sub. Said friend had heard about the London Subway incident but couldn't understand why I was so riled up at the idea of being served up two six-inch subs as opposed to the advertised foot-long sub. Brainwashed.

Fairly similar to London, I ordered my sub, mentioned clearly that I desired a foot-long sub that was uncut upon initial preparation. Get to the salad and what did she do? That's right... SHE CUT IT! *head explodes*

At this point my friend is laughing his head off, in disbelief that this has just happened. What followed was one of the most awkward interactions ever, though hilarious to look back on.

Me: I said don't cut it.
American Sandwich Artist: Well, I've cut it now.
Me: =/


We stared at each other for at least thirty seconds, both waiting to see who would break first. She was looking at me as if I was crazy for expecting her to make me another sub. I was looking at her as if she was crazy for thinking that I was going to pay for a sub that was not prepared to spec.

She broke. I won (with plenty of attitude on her part sprinkled on top as she prepared my new sub).

Incident #3
New year. 2014 where the transgressions of 2013 are condemned to the past and all are given a new chance. Including Subway. It was late into Thursday 23rd January 2014 and, deciding to act against the likelihood of arriving home to no food, I went to Subway with friend from incident #2 and two other friends, who were unaware of Subway's previous crimes against humanity (humanity being Abe; one for all and all for one, as they say). We had a good hearty laugh about the incident as the Sandwich Artist prepared our subs. 

N.B. We entered Subway at 22.45, they were to close at 23.00 and the Sandwich Artist hurried us in our orders, informing us that they were about to close. Cheeky. 

As my friend came to the end of the anecdote, I realise I hadn't actually told the Sandwich Artist not to cut my sub. I immediately looked over in fear but, thankfully, having been the last to order, she wasn't yet at that stage with mine. As she prepared the third sub I requested that she didn't cut my sub, which she acknowledge.

You couldn't write what followed. You really couldn't.

She slides onto my sub and, I know you've guessed it, she cut it. What is so difficult to understand about "do not cut my sub" that all of these Sandwich Artists seem to have a neurological defect that results in disregarding this instruction? I need to know!! Of course, by this point, my friends are in uncontainable hysterics and struggling to breath in between.

Me: I said don't cut it!
Sandwich Artist: Well, it's been cut now.
Me: I don't want it, I asked you not to cut it, can you make another one?
Sandwich Artist: No.
Friends burst into even greater fits of laughter.
Me: Pardon? Are you joking?
Sandwich Artist: No, we're closing.
Me [looks at clock]: You still have ten minutes 'til closing, you can make my sub!
Sandwich Artist: I haven't cut it fully (which by this she meant that she had only cut the top half of the sub and not the bottom half.)
Me: Are you actually joking? No, let's not be silly here, a cut is a cut, you've cut it.

Eventually, after threatening to send a letter of complaint, she gives me two free cookies to shut me up. I don't even like Subway's cookies. 

So, with three strikes, it's about time I made my grievances public. We have to make a stand guys. We were missold PPI, we've been missold election manifestos from the Liberal Democrats (I say we, not me, I didn't vote for them but  many of Generation Y did), we've been missold tantalising burgers from McDonalds advertisements that have a 100% success rate of failing us with how their product matches up in reality and now we are being missold foot-long subs. 

We do not have to stand for this my people. Let's rise together. Fight for what we believe in. We can and will come out victorious. All it takes is one of us. Then two. Then three... Until eventually we have a revolution on our hand where the allure of a foot-long is respected.

Thank you for your time, people.


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Currently watching: Celebrity Big Brother (Forever the guilty pleasure - I promise I watch better TV than this on a usual basis - but this really has been the best series ever, salutations to Channel 5.)