A couple nights ago we were driving back from Fingers’ obedience class looking for take out. Collin pointed the car towards a seedy Subway on the wrong side of town.
“Can we go to the other Subway, the one on the way home?”
“You mean the other side of town on the way home?”
“Yeah. C’mon this Subway is so… ghetto.”
So we’re standing in line at the ghetto Subway and I’m feeling increasingly uncomfortable. I’m conscious of my uneasiness and begin to create a mental checklist of what could be troubling me: decor is out of date; staff is a bit zitty, floor is kinda dirty, too many teenagers occupying the space…
My thoughts are interrupted when one of the Subway clerks stomps over to the front door, loudly locks it and announces the following:
“My purse has been stolen and someone in here stole it. No one can leave until the police get here.”
So her purse gets stolen and she gets auto-clearance to dabble in unlawful confinement?
An older teen comments, “yeah, and the person who stole it is going to stay in the store.”
I give the Huz a good-natured “I told you so” look, smile and roll my eyes. The humour in the situation is immediately apparent and will make for a good story but c’mon, I’m also tired and want to go home. Conflicted.
“I found it.”
Stomp, stomp, stomp she goes… the ultimate walk of shame… and unlocks the door.
She makes my sub with a little extra care, I’m sure to compensate for her embarrassment.
I guess the moral of the story is: listen to wifey with the Subway vision or you may end up in a hostage taking situation at the ghetto Subway near you.