So, I needed to go to the bank at lunch today, which meant walking about three blocks away, past the ballpark. After hitting the bank, I remember that there's a Specialty's hidden in the China Basin building behind the bank. I haven't been to a Specialty's in a while, but I remember loving this one sandwich they had that was made with melted cheese and fake crab. Sounds disgusting, but it was really scrum. When I got to the place I remembered that they'd changed ownership or something, and the entire menu has changed, and they no longer have that sandwich. So I perused the menu, decided on something else, and got in line.
They had two lines going. I was in one with one person in front of me, and the other line had about four. When my cashier called, "Next!" a tall, obnoxious blonde woman talking on a cell phone AND listening to an iPod left the other line and cut in front of me.
Fine. It was just one person. I could wait. So she gives her order and pays. Then I give my order (smoked pork sandwich, no onions), pay, and go stand with the rest of the boobs as we wait for our name to be called so we can pick up our sandwich.
It's not the best system. The people announcing the sandwiches have a tendency to mumble and not get your name right, so there's a lot of going over and comparing receipts and realizing yours hasn't been called yet. And it doesn't help when the cashier spells your name wrong. ("Rein"? COME ON!) So, after waiting about five minutes, the sandwich maker calls out two names and two sandwiches, none of which is intelligible, and before I can go over and check the receipts, Obnoxious Blonde shoves through, grabs one, and walks out. I look at the remaining sandwich, which is a tuna for "Serena," and continue to wait.
And wait. And wait. And wait. About 15 minutes pass, and I am now the only person waiting for a sandwich, while Serena's sad tuna sits unclaimed. It becomes apparent that someone has made-off with my pork, as it were, and just as I am about to approach the counter, Obnoxious Blonde storms in proclaiming that she got the wrong sandwich. Hers was tuna.
So Serena Tuna forks over her sandwich, grabs her tuna, apologizes--to the sandwich girl!--and stomps out. And I look at the sandwich girl, say "Uh. That's mine." She shakes her head and says, "Yeah."
So they make me another one (to their credit they didn't just repackage Obnoxious Blonde's return) and I head out to eat during the five minutes I now have left in my lunch hour.
Only to discover my sandwich is covered in onions. WAAAH-waah.