  What I hate even more than the fact that these so-called Subway sandwich "artists" give Erik shit whenever he asks them to change their tuna-fishy gloves is that they are stingy. It took some work on my part to convince Erik that we should have Subway for lunch today instead of going home for toast. (Could that be any more depressing? ) So I wanted the meal (deal) to live up to my arm twisting. As some of you, namely Cate, have heard me tell time and again, one of the first times I knew Erik was the guy for me was when we went out for Subway in London. While I was busy marvelling over the absence of banana peppers and the presence of corn, I heard Erik make a little dissatisfied grunt. I looked over to see him motioning with his hand to the "artist" behind the counter, "Could you evenly distribute those cucumbers? " Or something to that effect. I stopped my ordering, looked over at him with dewey eyes and thought, "love. " Four years later he's ordering horseradish sauce and I'm all, "Is this the man I fell in love with? " Anyway, I've accepted the fact that no Subway franchise will ever live up to the Oberlin establishment.
Those townies knew how to make a sandwich! But the Subway here in Malmö is truly a disappointment. Like I said, stingy . Today, after receiving a pittance of lettuce, I asked for more peppers. And then I had to ask for more than two olives and then as the "artist" reached for a pickle, I said exasperated, "Can I just have more of everything? "* It was all I could do not to climb over the glass case and make it myself. What do they think is in a veggie delight if it's not the veggies?
In the end, once I sat down with my chips, my sub, and my fanta, the meal came together nicely. About twenty minutes after lunch, while digesting in H&amp;M, I realized I forgot to ask for my subclub stamps. Arrgh! *A note on the genetics of my dissatisfaction: My dad, five-cheese man, was actually fired as a cook in the army because he made the sandwiches too big. 
