Article by Joanna Sarah-Freedman
Ever order the most random mish-mash of fillings when you go to Subway, and awkwardly look around to check that nobody you know has caught you in the act?
Yes, for some bizarre reason you want olives and extra garlic sauce with your meatball marinara, and no, you don’t want to have to feel any shame in the process.
Well, the good news is that however weird you think your Subway order is, it’s probably not as odd as the ones we’re about to tell you.
Yup, a former Subway employee has opened up a conversation about the weirdest order she ever received, and some of the responses are truly shocking.
Speaking on Twitter, user @pb_and_garlic wrote: “While I worked at Subway in my early twenties, I made many… questionable sandwiches.
“But there is one I will never forget. I think about this sandwich at least once a week. It haunts my nightmares. I sincerely worry about the person who ordered it.”
She then went on to explain what the sandwich was (and we warn you, it’ll almost certainly make you lose your appetite…)
Read the full thread below at your peril:
“This early dinnertime shift (5-6pm), there were three of us working the line, all 20-somethings, because at the time all the “big adults” had quit or been fired. (Our store was run by kids for about a month.) A group of high school-aged kids came in,” she wrote.
“I served the second girl in the group. She wanted a footlong on white bread, cool. Double provolone and double American cheese, I can respect that. Does she want it toasted? No. Veggies? No. Sauce? Yes, ranch please.
“Now I’m not denying people who have the tastebuds of a toddler the privilege of watching your sandwich come together before your very eyes behind a curved pane of glass covered with the fingerprints and sneezes of those who came before them. They deserve Subway too.
“However, this girl wanted ranch dressing. So I put ranch (two lines) on her sandwich. ‘More please.’ I put two more lines of ranch on her sandwich. ‘More please.’ I put another two lines. Her: (visibly annoyed) ‘More than that.’ I am beginning to become concerned.
“I add more. At this point the cheese, the only other thing on the bread, is nearly obscured. She’s irritated now. “Just keep going.” I stare at her, refillable squeeze bottle in hand. ‘You want… more than this?’ Her: ‘Yeah, I’ll tell you when to stop.’
“I continue. I am in disbelief. After a few more passes with the bottle, the dressing is beginning to run off the sides of the bread. I look up at her. She does [a go ahead motion].
“My soul exits my body as I continue to squirt ranch dressing onto her ‘sandwich.’ It’s more of an open-face soup at this point. I look up at her, expecting her to tell me to stop. She doesn’t. She wants more. Her friends are looking over [baffled].
“I feel like that waiter in the cartoons who is never told “when” as he grates fresh parmesan onto someone’s pasta. The plate is just a mound of grated cheese. The table is covered in cheese. The room fills with cheese. But my room is filled with ranch dressing.